A Matter of Pride
by TLH
Summary: COMPLETE: What Tristan wants, Tristan gets..or at least he always did until he meets Cait, a feisty young widow determined to keep him at arms length. Takes place five years after the battle of Badon Hill. Tristan and Cait o/c
1. Chapter 1: The Woman

**I have decided with this story not to confine myself within the boundaries of the film as I wanted a chance to write something a little more light-hearted. Of course, it's Tristan so there has to be a little angst (lol) but hopefully a few smiles too. So forget deaths on icy lakes and other such tragedies. I have no idea where this story will go but so long as someone wants to read it and I enjoy writing it, I'll continue and see what happens! **

**Synopsis**

_When Tristan finally meets his match, he never expected for one minute it would be wearing a skirt! Being a man used to always having his own way, the woman's infuriating resolve to keep him at arms length proves a tad too much, even for this battle hardened knight. But he was determined to have her yield to him, he would have it no other way._

**CHAPTER ONE**

"What in the devil's name did you have to drag me here for, Ros?" grumbled Cait as she nudged and shoved her way through the throng of carousing revellers. Reaching her destination, Cait took her place beside her red-headed companion, who had by now settled herself atop a makeshift wooden barrier in order to get herself a more satisfying view of the day's entertainment. Cait on the other hand, chose to stand and with a habitual tug on the greying head wrap that covered all but her small round face, she finally settled her elbows upon the fence next to her friend.

In the centre of a ring of bellowing and cheering faces, two knights obligingly exhibited their ferocious talents with sword and shield for the enraptured on-lookers. The constant crash of metal challenging metal and the adrenalin fuelled roars of the two combatants drove Ros into a frenzy of delighted whoops and Cait into a despondent groan. She knew she should have stayed home today but she had allowed Ros to cajole her into coming. Now she knew it wouldn't be long before Ros had found herself a man's arm to drape herself over and she would be forgotten - left alone to escort herself back to her small dwelling just about a mile south of the wall. Not a prospect Cait welcomed, considering the vast growing numbers of intoxicated soldiers and serfs that revelled all about them. Nearby, the smoky clouds of a roaring communal fire reeked in her nostrils, mingling deliciously with that of the mouth-watering aroma of roasting hog. But as hungry as she was, even the thought of damping her ever growing appetite with a tasty meal, could not wipe the scowl from her brow.

"I wonder ya ever had a joyful day in yer life, ya pitiful wench!" Ros threw across her shoulder as she caught sight of the foul look on her friend's face "What's wrong with ya? The King is wed today, what better reason to be here and making merry?"

Cait's scowl furrowed deeper at the sounds of her friend's spontaneous caterwauls of delight as one of the battling knights (a flaxen haired hulk of a man) knocked his younger, rather fresh-faced opponent clean off his feet and demand that he yield. The crowds that gathered around the arena hollered their approval as the contest was won. The victor let out a roar as he punched his broadsword in the air, taking a moment to absorb the sweet taste of triumph before reaching down his free hand to help up his crest-fallen rival with a broad grin.

Paying no more heed to the doleful woman beside her, Ros bounced up and down excitedly, clapping and whooping her approval whilst hoping desperately to attract the handsome grin her way. There would be a full purse there tonight to be sure, she thought appreciatively and he was a fine looking man indeed with his blue eyes and long sun kissed braids and whiskers.

"Pah! The _King_ indeed!" Cait snipped irritably "The place running amuck with knights and soldiers more like! That's the only prospect to tempt you from your bed afore noon and don't you deny it! Why, one sniff of a fighting man and his gold and it's down with his breeches and up with your skirts for sure! – You've no shame, no! Not one bit!"

Ros cast down a spurious glare at the woman by her side and knowing her friend's chiding for the empty scolding it was, she returned it with a chuckle

"A wizened old nun you are for sure, oh pious Cait of such saintly virtue!" She cooed mockingly with a haughty toss of her long red locks "You'll die a shrivelled, lonely old maid one of these days and………God's bones Cait!! Would you look at that?!" She gasped suddenly and laughed once again as her attention quickly drew back to the two knights now readying themselves to leave the arena.

Cait's eye wandered reluctantly to the cause of Ros's zealous call for attention. There to see that both knights, their brows now flushed red and glistening with perspiration, had cast off their hauberks to their waiting knaves and were now tossing their sweat sodden shirts to the ground. From the sidelines, a small boy ran quickly over to the pair, hauling pails of icy water which slopped over with every stride and most every female in the crowd cheered with wanton delight, as both men took the proffered refreshment and drenched their hot and naked torsos. Ros shrieked with laughter, yelling lewd enticements meant especially for the ears of the victorious blond warrior, the like of which left Cait groaning inwardly at Ros's typically excruciating impropriety.

Thankfully, the tempting aroma of succulent roasting pork once again diverted her attention to the hollow in her stomach, telling Cait that now was as good a time as any to escape the prospect of playing gooseberry to Ros's inevitable endeavour to attach herself to the winning knight now taking his leave.

Leaving Ros with an unlikely promise to perhaps meet up once more later in the day, Cait turned and walked away. But not before she allowed her eyes to linger, just once, upon the last residual droplets of water which now shimmered on their beguiling journey over the taut, muscular frames of the two men making their way from the arena. With a despondent sigh, she sauntered on as her bewildering thoughts drifted way back to the man she had once called husband and who had never given her one single moment of the pleasure that Ros enthused over so passionately.

She gave a rare smile at the thought of Ros with her devilish, flaming red hair and saucy sway in her hips. Hard-headed and resilient as she was though, Ros was not a one for hard work and toil but instead, much preferred making her way in life along with many of the other loose skirted women who trailed round the camps after any knight or soldier willing to pay for their companionship. It was an easy living, she always said and besides it was far better than working the fields or castle kitchens. 'There'll be plenty of time for that', she always said, when beauty faded and she could no longer hold the eye of a man in need of a wench to warm his bed. For all Cait's protests to the contrary, if she were truly honest, there were moments in her life when she believed she almost envied Ros's wanton ways as near as much as she disparaged them. But Cait never allowed thoughts such as those to be dwelled upon and certainly never repeated out loud. It was always far easier for her to deny that unfathomable longing than to confess it.

As unlikely as it seemed, these two had found a friendship together. Not the deep, impenetrable bond of blood brothers however, but a pleasant and satisfying friendship none-the-less. A friendship that in the least, helped to ease the loneliness both women felt at times in their life. Even Ros - who in spite of her demand throughout the male populace of the community, had precious few friends or family. Most women, seeing her wild beauty and brazen attitude as either threat or competition, had only the wish to keep her as far away from themselves and their lovers as possible.

Why the two of them had struck an accord, neither woman could ever quite fathom. Two could never be so different in both looks and existence.

Maybe it was because Ros had been one of only a handful who had offered Cait friendship at a time when she was at her most vulnerable and lost, that made it easy for Cait to over-look Ros's dubious living and for Ros? - Perhaps it was merely because Cait posed no competition for _her_? Though deep down and for all that most thought of her, Ros wasn't without a heart and something of the sadness that had lingered in the eyes of that friendless, stubborn and often churlish young thing that had arrived at her village eight years ago, had touched her. She knew the girl would find no rescuing light in the man that had brought her there, for few knew men as Ros did and one thing had been for sure, she had known that that husband of Cait's was not of the same inclination as the men that she preferred were. In truth she had pitied the poor, ignorant soul he had brought here - him having no more desire for her than the admiration of her strong back and healthy constitution. It was clear to Ros that was all he had wanted from Cait. Working the land was back-breaking work and he could ill afford to hire the help he had needed. So, for the price of a sack of fowl and a three month old sow, he bought himself a wife instead and so came Cait of the western hills to the small southerly village within the sites of Badon Hill in the north east of Briton.

Arriving at Badon Hill more than eight summers past, Cait had been well aware that the man by her side had married her merely from necessity than from any sense of affection, after all, he had shown her nothing that would have convinced her otherwise in their brief acquaintance of just two days length. But a discovered secret dalliance with a handsome young infantry man from the 31st Roman Legion that had been camped near her village some months before, safety secured that upon the asking, her father - who couldn't rid himself of his shameful daughter quick enough – had been more than willing to pack her off on her way up north to her new life. Despised by her family and scorned by most in her community, Cait was equally as happy to go with the man who had quite simply, by chance, passed through her village that day.

Although now, any possibility that Cait could ever have be regarded as a pretty girl had long since been hidden beneath her head wrap, smock and haughty scowl - back then, she had possessed (although rarely bestowed) an enchanting smile and a certain feisty charm that was perhaps only apparent to those men that cared to look for it. Her husband, Ewen, apparently had not been of those men. At the time, this had suited her just fine. For she no more harboured any feelings of affection for him than he did her and his offer to take her off her father's hands she knew would be the only respectable offer ever likely to be forthcoming, with her past liaison so well renowned and abhorred amongst her small village community. She was her father's disgrace and a day hadn't gone by for Cait without reminder of it. She bore the scars to prove it.

As they had trundled away, leaving the memories of lost love, degradation and cruelty behind, Cait felt cleansed by a great sense of relief. She had however, in her haste to be rid of her unhappy past, given no thought as to the other duties that would be required of her in her new role as wife.

The only memory Cait had of her wedding night had been the frantic grunts and detached fumbling that lasted mere moments but had been painful and frightening in their desperation. Whatever short-lived happiness she had found in the arms of Cassius Aquila of the 31st, her experience of love had still been in its infancy and his gentle courtship not yet fully awakened her womanhood. But his tender caresses and warm kisses had always left her giddy with longing. In contrast, Ewen's pathetic assault on her person had left her feeling nauseous and violated. There had been no affection, not even desire in his clumsy pounding- more a sense of reluctance, distaste even. One the fifth night, with the feel of his thick, rough fingers pulling at the hem of her night shift, Cait knew she could take no more and had whispered beseechingly

"_Please don't_"

For the first time, her husband raised his head to look upon her face and Cait's distraught eyes had been met with only those of willing reprieve. The act it seemed was as disgusting to him as it was to her. And with an overwhelming sense of relief to both, he had left.

With the passing weeks an ease developed between them and although not happy, her relief at never having to be touched by her husband again and his, at not having to touch her, allowed a certain civility to nurture between them. But the newfound tranquillity would prove to be short lived.

Within six months of Cait's arriving at the wall, Ewen fell ill with the sweating sickness. Eight days later Cait found herself a widow, completely alone but certainly not helpless. Ewen had been a good provider, she could not deny him that – she had a solid roof above her head, no sign of a child in her belly and she had a strong back as well as an ever growing strength of spirit. There was nothing for it but to stay and work the fields for her bread. She needed nothing more. It was hard work, but she was no stranger to heavy toil and always carried out the chore without quandary or complaint. Without a man now to help provide there was little else for a woman such as she, save the ignominy of whoring for coin and unlike Ros, that she could never do. Having tasted both the sweetness of affection and the coldness of indifference, Cait had sworn she would never be taken without love again. She would sooner starve than suffer that and as she had more than convinced herself that there would be precious few suitors knocking at her door, she would just have to forget such notions of finding a true and loving heart and instead work hard and take care of herself. Ewen's rejection of her physically, however much welcomed, had surely left its mark on Cait. Any interest shown in her had always been met with suspicion and rebuff, with Cait believing that their only real interest was her meagre possessions and not for one minute because they found her in the least bit attractive and worthy of attention. How could they? Even her own husband had found her repulsive.

Gradually Cait had taken to scraping her long tawny hair away from her face and winding it up beneath an ugly linen head-wrap high upon her head and wearing loose heavy smocks that gave no hint of the curves that lay beneath it, thus giving the woman a slightly severe appearance beyond her years. Slowly, any male interest in her waned and she inevitably became thought of as frosty and aloof. A no-hoper where any amorous inclination might be sort and so the would be hopefuls, over-time, ceased to come knocking.

Amazingly, it had been some years later before Cait finally realised that it had not been any lacking in herself that was to blame for her husband's antipathy, when she had confided the truth to Ros one day. Ros had laughed incredulously and said, "Did ya not ever wonder at his preferrin' the company of the old blacksmith's girly-faced son to your own, Cait? Can ya really be so green?"...

...A sudden screech and a painful peck of her arm roused Cait from her reminiscing, causing a startled wail to slip through her lips as she found herself the unwitting victim of a much vexed hawk. So wrapped in her thoughts was she, Cait hadn't noticed the bird perched upon a post and as she had passed so closely by, the hawk had given Cait no doubt of it's annoyance at having it's personal space so rudely encroached upon.

"You little Devil's beastie, you!" Cried Cait "That I should wring your neck for the harpy you are!" The hawk gave Cait an insulting screech and flapped its powerful wings as if daring her threat. Cait glared and opened her mouth to curse once more just as a tall figure emerged from the gathering around the hog roast fire she had been making her way toward.

An unfathomable whiskered face with sharp tawny eyes stared icily through a tangle of shaggy brown hair lay strewn across both face and shoulders. Struck quite silent, Cait found herself staring back just as intensely, captured by both curiosity and fascination. As if seeing for the first time in this faintly exotic face, something strange and new. But this was not something new to her, this was something she remembered. Something she had glimpsed once before, the first time her eyes had unwilling been met with this same icy stare and which again, as then, threatened to pierce through her normally steadfast deportment. But she stood fast, her obstinate pride simply refusing to allow herself to be ensnared and thrusting her hands upon her hips, threw him back an arrogant glare.

Cait saw no flicker of recognition in the dark eyes that held her own; she instead heard only the sound of a clicking tongue which was answered by the hawk as it hopped the short distance over to the man's now outstretched and gauntleted hand. His mildly accusing eyes never once left her own and inevitably Cait could hold even _her_ mulish countenance no longer and felt her cheeks begin to colour faintly. He stared a moment longer, making Cait shift uncomfortably under his silent chastisement. He lifted a finger and caressed his companion's feathery breast gently as if soothing it from the offence of Cait's remarks and then without further expression, he turned and walked away.

Feeling herself unable to prise her eyes from his tall, lean form, Cait watched, entranced as he strode away with a confident and arrogant swagger that was so obviously all his own. She cursed below her breath at the peculiar pound in her chest and even more so at the bewildering disappointment that his unrecognising eyes brought to her. It had been such a fleeting crossing of paths some two autumns ago and until just a few moments ago, one that Cait had believed she had finally forgotten. As he disappeared into the crowds, Cait found it impossible to fight the need to see his face just one more time. If only to convince herself that he truly was as ill favoured as she'd made herself believe, following the months he had preyed unwontedly upon her thoughts. That he really was nothing more than an arrogant, conceited oaf. That he truly held no conjurer's spell upon her.

_Just one more time,_ she told herself as she began once more to tousle her way through the exuberant crowds.


	2. Chapter 2: The Man

**I would like this opportunity to thank all you wonderful people for your feed-back. It is very much appreciated.**

**_Mutpadarra_, thank you so much for your review and to answer your questions, I see this story set some time after the battle at Badon Hill and of course Tristan, Lancelot and Dagonet are not dead! (They'd be no use to me if they were!lol!) The Roman forces have now all left British shores, Arthur has been crowned King and is busy in his attempt to unite all the tribes of Briton. Cait, I see as a girl of about 19 when she was married off, so that makes her now 27-28. Fast approaching old maid status for those times! Lol, Poor woman! Tristan of course is any age you want him to be! :) To me he's always pushing 40! But that's because I am!**

**Hope this next update is ok. Thanks for reading!**

**Chapter 2 – The Man**

"_Still yourself woman!…It's just one little kiss!" The soldier grinned as he tightened his grip and his head bobbed from side to side as his mouth failed miserably to catch lips that evaded his so infuriatingly. Cait thought her spine about to snap as she arched further and further back._

"_Leave me be, you animal… stop it.!!" She cried as she reached up, clawing desperately at the mocking face bearing down on her. _

_Why had she tarried so long? She thought desperately as she fought off the soldier's unwanted caresses. Twilight was quickly encroaching around them, casting her bewitchery upon all that walked within her folds and even in this time of relative peace - with the marauding Saxon's driven from Britain's shores and the Roman army deserting them so close behind - the haven of Badon Hill's fortress walls, as anywhere, was still no safe place for any young woman after dark._

_Following days of autumn harvesting, making her way back from the granaries through the drafty stone corridors of the Keep, she had almost reached the waiting carts set to ferry the farmers back to their small settlement just a mile or so away, when she found her way halted by two soldiers. Their watch duty was at an end for the day and naturally they were in boisterous spirits and looking forward to a long deserved night of ale and dice. Attempting to shuffle past unnoticed had proved fruitless and Cait soon found herself the object of their unwanted intentions._

_They had not truly meant her harm to begin with - only light hearted teasing had been their aim and had she only laughed along with them and eased herself past, they would no doubt have let her on her way with nothing more than a blush on her cheeks. But Cait, being Cait, had instead unleashed her temper upon them with unreserved zest, scolding them for the insolent bitch's whelps she swore they were. _

_The crude, though light-hearted comments soon became angry taunts as hands snatched at her skirts and pulled at laces about her neck, with one soldier tearing the neck of her smock as he pulled her roughly to his chest. Laughing, he brought his mouth down hard upon her own and Cait continued to curse against his bruising lips. With a sudden sense of the opportunity, she brought her knee up hard between his legs and the soldier gave out a breathless groan as his legs buckled beneath him. As Cait pushed his folding body away from her and made good her escape, the second soldier made a grab towards her but only succeeded in tearing the wrap from her head. Throwing it to the floor with a frustrated growl, he decided to let her fly and instead bent down to help his whimpering comrade to his feet._

_Cait flew down the dark, drafty corridor, her long dark hair- now free of it's binds- cascading behind her and her heart hammering rhythmically with the echoing stamp of her fleeing feet. Her hand made a desperate grab for the icy cold cornerstone as she careered around into the next passageway which would lead her to the gatehouse. But her flight was too speedy, her attempt misjudged and Cait found herself hurtling forward and she braced herself against the inevitable pain that would follow her crash upon the solid stone floor. Her breath left her lungs as she collided not upon stone but into the steely grip of another's arms._

_Stunned, Cait found herself unable to react right away. A few moments of stilled gasps and gazing up into a pair of the most overwhelming eyes she had ever beheld and panic once again took her. Struggling furiously, she began to shriek only to have a firm hand silence her cries. _

"_Hush, wench!" a low husky voice commanded "I'll not harm ye" _

_Cait fought the hand at her mouth; clawing determinedly she found her chance to bite down hard against its calloused palm. _

_The man hissed as he felt the teeth sink deep into his flesh. In one swift manoeuvre he grabbed her long tawny hair and entwined his fingers firmly behind her neck forcing her eyes to his._

"_I told you…" he growled, still fighting the pain of her bite. "you've naught to fear from me!" _

_His scowl, though clearly incensed, seemed only to offer the promise of safety and Cait found herself slowly leaving-go her cat-like grip. With his hand now free he took no time at all in steeling his arm around her waist and pulling Cait firmly up against his body which was slender but hard. Cait let out a gasp and feeling the threat of her struggle once more, the man curled his fingers more tightly within her hair._

"_Be warned my little vixen, should you but think of making a feast out of me again…" He whispered, leaning close, so close she could feel his whiskered lips graze her cheek, his warm breath sending tingles through her body. "…__I bite back!"_

_He pulled back slightly to catch her eyes and for a few silent moments, Cait found herself unable to look away, helpless in his grasp. So close to his body she couldn't help but be aware of his scent. The scent of the wilderness entwined with a gentle aroma of hard toil - so masculine and feral all at once, it made Cait long to breathe him in. She felt the colour rise to her cheeks with the heat of his long slender fingers, so warm against the soft skin of her neck. Were these the arms of her saviour or her captor? She knew not what, but her desire to yield began to pulse low and deep down and Cait felt herself swallow involuntarily._

_The man saw the glimmer of submission flash in the brown eyes of the woman in his arms and he loosed his hold on her hair as her body began to relax against him, confident now there would be no more assaults upon his person._

_He cocked an amused brow as she continued to stare, in the dusky light he could not see the blush of her cheeks but he sensed a flame kindling before him. His eyes swept over her, coming to rest upon the torn neckline which revealed a tempting promise of an ample bosom beneath it. _

_He gave a rusty chuckle and tut-tuted mischievously. "It seems, you are not decent woman." He teased as his fingertips grazed lightly over the soft swell of her exposed flesh. _

_Cait gave a mortified gasp and slapped away his hand. A sudden tirade of insults and curses was halted at her lips by the abusive roars from the two soldiers which echoed through the corridors behind her. _

_The man looked past her shoulder and Cait watched as his face suddenly became stone and the eyes ice cold. He set her down so unexpectedly Cait stumbled slightly and had to catch his arm to steady her feet. Peeling away her fingers, he barely looked at her but through a fleeting, frosty glance cast down at her from the corner of his eye._

"_Run along little rabbit" He warned, his voice now deathly quiet and devoid of any it's previous mirth. "night is falling quickly, tis not a place for a little thing like you."_

_The frighteningly abrupt change of countenance would have been enough to chill even the bravest of hearts, but wisely or not, Cait felt no alarm. On the contrary, she merely found herself feeling oddly miffed at his having let her go._

_Without another word, Cait was, it seemed, dismissed and forgotten as the man stalked off toward the sound of the vulgar curses meant for her._

_Cait remembered having waited a moment, hoping that he would look back, but he had paid her no more heed. As he turned into the darkness, Cait hitched up her skirts and did as she was bade….._

Easing herself back against the cornerstone of a large stable building, Cait grimaced faintly at the twist of the knot within her which tightened with every recollection of the mysterious man she now observed with clandestine curiosity. Memories which an hour ago were thought buried and forgotten, seemed now so fresh they could have been a memory of just yesterday and not from two long years previous.

She had pursued his path in and out of the crowds, around the hordes of performing circus fools, jostled her way through the peddlers' stalls and galloped past the Smithy's' roaring furnaces, infuriated at his quickness of step as he evaded her sight time and again.

'Would the man never stop?' she wailed angrily to herself when at last, reaching a small clearing just outside a heaving tavern within the courtyard grounds of Badon Hill fortress, he stopped and with gentle encouragement, sent his hawk up into flight as Cait stood and watched, mesmerised by the birds silent grace.

"Tristan! Over here…!!"

The sudden jovial, bellowing voice startled Cait, drawing her attention to giant of a man who was pushing his way through the bodies which stood within the tavern and she watched, fascinated, as he strode forward to greet the hawk-man.

'Tristan, his name is Tristan..' she smiled to herself with an approving nod and thought how much she enjoyed the feel of his name on her lips as it rolled off her tongue. She liked it. It suited him well.

Tristan walked over and murmured some unheard greeting to his large, shaven headed friend, who in turn gave him a crooked grin and thrust a mug of ale into his hand. Cait watched engrossed as her quarry drained the cup and slammed it down upon a nearby tabletop whilst wiping his whiskers with his sleeve, seemly unaware that his every move was being scrutinized.

Her gaze never faltered as her curious eyes studied his tall, untidy figure which now leant itself carelessly against a wooden post as he nonchalantly reached into a pocket and began whittling away at some unseen object in his hands, whilst listening to whatever banter his tall companion had to share with him. Every so often, Cait was sure she could see the ghost of a smile lighten his stoic features and she felt the knot in her stomach tighten all the more in response to the rugged charisma that captivated her eyes. Believing herself unnoticed, she took time to wonder that his was a face that would have, in its youth she was sure, been considered quite beautiful. The perfect slender nose, the full-lipped, down turned mouth barely hidden within prematurely silver tipped whiskers, the high carved cheek bones both ornamented with two curious dark flashes upon each. All in all it must have been a face almost feminine in its design, but now hardened by life; it had taken on a coarse and roughened magnetism, leaving no doubt of the man behind it. He was every bit as breathtaking in appearance as she'd tried so hard to forget. No, he was not typically broad in stature. Yes, he was uncommonly dishevelled in his dress with his hair long and unkempt, but _still_ he held an air of magnificence that was undeniable and so painfully evident to Cait as to cause her to hold the breath in her lungs.

The enchantment was broken for a moment as Cait found herself rudley shoved from behind by a passing gaggle of drunken, caterwauling women. She threw them an irritable scowl as they staggered on their way and then turned once more to find, to her utter surprise, the hawk-man's eyes clearly locked with her own. Her cheeks flushed with heat and she dropped her gaze and quickly turned away.

'God's breeches!!' she whispered to herself, feeling a slight panic that her secret surveillance was discovered. After a few minutes, convincing herself that he couldn't possibly have thought her the spy, she dared to turn back only to find him gone. Disappointment melted her brief anxiety as her eyes darted from one place to another. She caught sight of his tall companion but of himself, there was no sign. Cait wilted, feeling despondent and strangely empty.

"I have the distinct feeling you are shadowing me, woman." Cait gave a little yelp as she found herself whirled around to face Tristan, who now held her fast by the top of each arm. "So, are you assassin or thief?" he whispered close to her ear, with more than a hint of mockery lacing his tone

"Really….what nonsense, Sir!" Cait cried "Why, in heaven's name, would I be spying on you?"

"You've been scurrying about at my back like an inquisitive mouse for the last hour"

Tristan smiled secretly behind his whiskers. At that moment, she did indeed look like a mouse – cornered, her large brown eyes wide and desperate for an opportunity of escape.

Cait was mortified, her slender neck glowed red with embarrassment and a rapid pulse pounded in her chest.

"Nay, sir…" she stuttered "you are mistaken, I..I..I am not..I was not…" her voice trailed into silence as she stared up at the emotionless, stone-like expression which again bore not a flicker of recognition.

There was silence for a moment, then suddenly he smiled; only the ghost of a smile, but it was enough to light the flame which melted his ice cold eyes, turning them a warm golden brown and slowly, Cait felt herself tumbling into their web, spellbound once more.

She suddenly became aware of the tatty grey head-wrap and the ugly heavy smock that adorned her head to toe and for the first time in many a year, she felt ashamed. She so wished she had worn her hair long, with tiny flowers laced through braids about her face as Ros had tried so ardently to persuade her to do that very morning.

As if reading her very thoughts Tristan suddenly remarked

"If it's bed-sport yer after, you only had to come ask, wench."Letting go his grip on her arms, Tristan ran his eyes slowly and deliberately over the woman in front of him. "But mind, I'll have to charge extra if y'insist on wearing this old mother's cap and rags" He gave a throaty mischievous chuckle as he ruffled the grey wrap upon Cait's head, "an' I don't come cheap at the best of times"

From captivated admiration to shame-filled anger in a flash, Cait smacked away the hand from her head and puffed herself up like a mother-hen.

"You are indeed _cheap, _Sir… cheap and arrogant!" she snapped acidly. "And I'd ask ye to keep yer insolent remarks and grubby fingers to y'self"

The bemused man stood back slightly and measured her rapid change of manner and now seemly fearless stance with a perplexing stare. He was certain, just a moment ago he had witnessed the glimmer of a wanting, willing maid, but now…

She didn't seem a woman without her wits to him but, he concurred, she was most certainly foolish with that caustic tongue of hers. He could flog her on the spot for such impertinence, if he'd a mind to. Did she really have no idea of his name and rank? He rather hoped that she did, for he found that he liked her spirit and wouldn't care to see her reduced to the level of a snivelling and submissive serf just because he was one of the King's own knights. A small smile began to curl at the corner of his lips once more. Come to think of it, if he were honest, the way her nose wrinkled when she spat out her tetchy remarks was somewhat amusing and rather appealing.

"Ah, smooth ya feathers woman, I mean you no offence" he growled cordially and then asked, as if it were a momentary afterthought "Come, share a draft with me in the tavern…. by way of amends"

Cait's angry frown turned swiftly to open mouthed incredulity and she found herself unable to answer for fear of only the sound of her heart - which had begun to beat furiously once again - being all that would be heard.

Seeing her begin to yield once again, Tristan arched an eyebrow and with an enticing glint in his eye, purred

"Don't take too long to accept now, it is not everyday I offer such recompense."

Cait found herself in awful turmoil. In just a few moments, this man had made her heart pound with longing, then startled her half to death, reduced her to a stuttering fool, crudely insulted her and now offered her an apology of such, that she so desperately wanted to accept it, but instead found herself battling her stubborn pride to allow.

Cait looked back into the honey-brown eyes that danced tantalizingly behind a shroud of dishevelled locks as he waited for her answer and remembered all those nights she had dreamt of such a moment as this, with this very man. Why one brief meeting, so long ago had haunted Cait so intensely, she could never fathom but here he was again, and again he was releasing all those clandestine emotions Cait always fought hard to keep firmly locked away. How could she refuse but equally, how could she accept? Suddenly, her mind made up, Cait finally dared to open her mouth to speak but found her words drowned by a familiar holler.

"Cait! Cait! 'ere you are, gurl! Well I'll be! If that spawn of a whore, didn't give me the boot and go off with that maggoty cunny, Morag! And her, with her poxy skin and her hog-grease black hair! I ask ya!" Ros came stomping churlishly to Cait's side, the indignant frown slipping swiftly away as she eyed with surprise, her friend's rather unexpected companion.

"Why Cait, ya dark mare, ya!" she laughed coyly "I didney know you had a hankering for Sarmatian knights" Cait felt herself enfold with embarrassment. "Be careful sweeting, I hear this one's a wildcat"

Tristan gave out a short laugh as Ros flashed a saucy smirk in his direction.

That was enough. She'd be damned if she would stay there to ridiculed by Ros in front of him and endure _his_ laughing at her, too. Lord knows what would spill from Ros's cesspit mouth next. It was more than Cait could bear. She saw her escape and took it quickly.

"Have no concerns for me, Ros" Cait snapped, her voice hoarse with humiliation "I have no wish to share the swill with such an arrogant swine."

Cait turned and flounced quickly away, paying no heed to her friend's calls behind her.

"Aw, Cait! I were only jestin' gurl! Wait up there!" Ros called, but Cait just kept right on going, disappearing out of view within the crowds.

Ros sighed despondently. That woman could be such a humourless crone at times. Looking back over her shoulder she watched as Tristan just scratched at his beard and shrugged. Her eyes then slowly wandered down to a bulging leather purse tied at his belt and her expression soon took on a less sullen tone. Eyes trailing back up the length of his tall, lean frame to meet his own, Ros gave him her most alluring smile.


	3. Chapter 3: The Horse

**Thank you all once again for reading and commenting. I got this one finished far sooner than I expected, quite an achievement for me! I hope you like it.**

**Chapter 3 – The Horse**

"Ah, bugger it!" Spat Cait angrily, as she kicked the empty wooden pail and sent it bouncing and splintering across the hut floor and straight into the dying flames of her small cooking hearth. Cait groaned and cursed herself for an idiot, for she had achieved nothing more than the necessity of having to dash over and rescue the same pail she had just assaulted, and not just for the reason that it was the only pail she possessed. She moved quickly and snatched it from the still glowing embers, surrendering herself to the idea that she was just going to have to go stumbling about in the chilly dark outside sooner or later if she wanted to quench the thirst of her parched throat, so she might as well get on with it. She gave a long, wailing yawn for about the umpteenth time that night as she rubbed away the watery tears of tiredness from her cheeks. Surely to Gods it must be nigh on sunrise now? The night hours had crept by so painfully slowly, torturing Cait with their weariness and the same quarrel tumbling over and over in her head, preventing the escape of much needed slumber.

"Why didn't I do this?... Why didn't I do that…oh be-gods!... What did I go and say that for?" It all added up to the same thing, by and by. So why, oh why hadn't she just said 'yes'? It was a simple enough word, was it not? Even for a donkey-headed fool like her. Who knows what might have been now, if only she had.

'Tristan' how many times had she said that name to herself that long sleepless night as she'd tried to fathom just what it was about him that made her feel so giddy and lose hold of her senses? Why, in over eight years had he been the only man ever to make her feel so utterly wanton and yet in another heartbeat, so utterly infuriated? She hated herself for being so foolish with her feelings. She had managed to protect them so fiercely before he had come marauding his way through her life, causing such disharmony to her peace of mind like no other man had ever done. And both occasions had been such fleeting moments and surely not even worth the effort of recollection to him. How could he do that? How _dare_ he do that? And without so much of a by-your-leave… the conceited, pig-headed goat?!... But oh, those eyes...!

And so the conflict went on and on. Heart battling head. Unable to admit that in fact, the man was guilty of nothing more than once upon a time, being her unwitting saviour and dabbling in a little harmless teasing at her expense. It was easier to scorn him for a cad than to realise herself for the ridiculous woman she was. Truth was, she was smitten and it frightened the life out of her. And all the more so, for knowing that she could be nothing more than just an inconsequential instant in his day, that would surely have been forgotten the moment she left his sight. He'd had no recollection of their first meeting, but then why on earth would he? For sure she'd probably not set eyes on him again, anyhow. But still, for all this, Cait couldn't help but dwell upon what might have been, if only she'd have taken that draft of ale with him yesterday.

Just once that night - as she had lain trussed up in a wolf hide, as tight as a pig in a poke, begging for sleep - it had shown its mercy and laid its welcome hand upon her brow. Only for it to be slapped rudely away by a raucous, smutty sounding caterwaul that Cait decided could only be that of Ros, drunk and no doubt being groped and fondled by one of her regulars as she made her way to her own hut which stood just a few yards from Cait's own.

The shenanigans that followed were typical of Ros's 'entertaining' evenings. Over the years, Cait had heard some goings on over there, and last night had been none the different. A symphony of grunting and groaning which, if it hadn't been for the sound of Ros's occasional piercing laughter, Cait would have sworn someone was being done to death.

But all was quiet over yonder now, thank the Gods. For the imaginings it had conjured up, had been all that Cait could stand, especially with that damned hairy knight haunting every part of her being. Was it any wonder that she could find no sleep now, feeling as wretched with wanting as she did? She wasn't quite sure exactly what it was she wanted so badly but for sure she wanted it from him, because thoughts of those tempting and persuasive eyes glinting her way, just would not leave her weary mind be.

Well, there was nothing for it, her mind was set. Cait needed a drink. Throwing her old woollen cloak about her shoulders, she took the abused wooden pail, quietly unlatched her door and stepped out into the cold, early morning darkness.

She made her way on tentative feet, toward the shadowy grey outline of the communal well. The dawn seemed just about to peer over the dark hills and a hint of light touched their uneven grassy peaks. Cait sniffed a little as the cold, misty morning air placed dew drops on the end of her nose and other than the soft squelch of her feet on the grass, all was quiet.

Whilst keeping her mind on maintaining her soundless step, Cait gave a start when suddenly the silence was disturbed, not by her, but by the unexpected sound of a wooden latch and gentle groan of door hinges.

She turned toward the intruding noise, to see a tall figure in Ros's doorway, unmistakably silhouetted against the fire glow that still burned from within. Cait stopped and stared, feeling a chill more than that of the bitter morning air, quiver pitilessly through her body.

She heard the lazy sound of Ros's voice pierce through her ears as she called out from within,

"'ere, where's my money?"

She heard the clatter of coins bouncing upon wood - every last one of them a wound to her very being - as the figure paid his debt without a word and then turned from the lighted doorway to leave.

Her heart stopped…then dropped with a sickening thud. It was him. She knew it was him.

She stood and watched, motionless and veiled in the shadowy gloom as he turned and quietly closed the door behind him, thus shutting out the glow from within and cloaking his figure in darkness. Cait felt, rather than witnessed his momentary glance in her direction. Although he could no more see her than she could see him now, she knew that he sensed another's scrutiny. He paused fleetingly and then simply pulled himself into the waiting saddle and cantered off into the dark. Had he waited just a mere moment longer he would have caught the soft sound of falling tears.

...

The air was thick and damp following a down pour of rain that morning, as Cait made her way through the muddy puddles of the track that lead back to her settlement. She had spent the morning beside a tiny stream in a little glade that lay within the woods that surrounded her home. It had always been a favourite place of hers. There she had sat and wallowed in unashamed self-pity, the whole time plagued with the vision of Tristan silhouetted in Ros's doorway. There had been tears, there had been ranting, there had been regrets and there had been resolves and eventually, the initial pain had turned into anger and then the anger into a determined indifference - albeit a fragile, false indifference. But it was the best she could hope for, for now and at least it gave her leave to face out the rest of the day with some semblance of calm normality.

Today was such a stark contrast to the bright and breezy air of yesterday, but the miserable weather suited her mood perfectly and so Cait was not going to be a one to complain about it. All was quieter now following the revelry of the King's wedding celebrations the day before. No doubt many a queasy belly and pounding head had kept most to their beds a little later than usual.

As Cait ambled along, tired and dejected, she mulled over the problem of Ros and how she was to keep up some facade of all being fine and dandy with her. She was a shrewd one that woman and Cait knew it would be a difficult task hiding her feelings from her. But hide them she must and forget that man, she would. For it would be too much too bear having Ros know the hurt she had caused her. Whether Ros would laugh, cry or not give a hoot either way, made no difference to Cait for she would be able to stand none of it anyway.

It all happened so swiftly that Cait did not even hear the heavy galloping thuds of hooves upon the earth coming towards her. But she looked up just in time to see the horrifying sight of a monstrous grey stallion careering around a bend in the pathway just ahead and bearing straight for her at a considerable gait. Having no time to move out of its path, Cait just stood still and let out a yell. The stallion skidded furiously as the startled rider pulled hard on the reins, fighting to bring his mount to a halt. The horse reared up high on its hind quarters and snarled with rage. Flaying its forelegs wildly, the animal's powerful hoofs barely missed striking the dismayed woman in front of him. Amidst the confusion and ruckus the startled screech of a hawk was heard as it took flight from its master's gauntlet.

Shrieking loudly, Cait staggered backwards, fighting vainly against her feet that slipped and slivered beneath her. Losing the battle for balance, Cait yelped once again as she fell rearward with an unceremonious splat, straight into a thick sludgy puddle.

The rider, not losing his seat for a moment, fought skilfully with the terrified animal. Displaying his expert horsemanship, he swiftly reined it down to a restless calm. The Stallion snorted and stomped the ground cantankerously as the man leant forward in his saddle, murmuring soothing words of reassurance as he firmly caressed the horse's powerful flank with obvious respect and affection.

Cait, clearly shaken but otherwise unharmed, swore wildly as she hauled herself up out of the mud, skirt slopping and slapping and clinging wet, cold and slimy against her legs. Cait gasped, utterly enraged at the dismal state of her ruined garments. She took a deep, angry breath and then let out yet another barrage of curses, this time aiming them straight at the rider who was by now, sat regarding her, quite expressionless and still.

With a sudden jolt, Cait simply lost the sound of her words as her livid brown eyes met with those of the hawk-loving Sarmatian staring unfalteringly back at her. She swallowed, reluctantly and felt the colour drain from her cheeks as recognition dawned.

The silence between them remained, as he dismounted with effortless poise, never once taking his resolute gaze from hers. With feet firmly upon the ground, he tilted his head down slightly. His eyes narrowed and continued to peer at her from beneath his shaggy mane and she saw the glimmer of his tongue glide momentarily cross his lower lip. But still he did not utter a word and she'd be damned if it were going to be her that broke the silence.

She watched him intently from beneath her lashes, still pale and heart pounding, reluctantly marvelling at his slender but so obviously powerful form. He had the look of one far too often in the clutches of the wilderness. Unkempt and filthy looking but, Oh...so compelling! This coupled with his intense, unwavering eyes, gave him a hungry, animal-like magnetism that left her feeling positively prey-like and exposed.

Without warning, he moved slowly towards her with a predatory, feline grace that was as silent as his demeanour.

'My God' thought Cait desperately, unable to move 'is he man or beast?' She hated herself at that moment, she hated him. How could she be so pathetically weak?

Upon reaching her, with one easy movement he stretched out his long fingers and clasped Cait's chin within a firm though gentle grip. So swift and unexpected was the advance, the woman did not even flinch, even whilst he moved her head sharply from side to side, surveying her features with a teasing frown upon his brow.

"Nothing broken…You'll live, woman." He spoke with an amused growl that suited perfectly his untamed appearance. Not letting go his grip he continued "So, my fiery little shadow...we meet again"

Those dark eyes of his began to dance waywardly and a smile curled at the corner of his mouth.

His charade dispelled her perplexed fascination in an instant and reality bit savagely as she recalled with a stab of pain, just where the hand that held her face had been, and just a few hours ago.

A sickening anger ignited within and finding her wits once more, Cait snatched the offending fingers away and pushed him firmly backwards with both muddy palms leaving their mark upon his chest.

"Who gave you leave to be touching me with those filthy hands?" she snapped acidly. "And look what you've done to my dress!"

Tristan took a slight step back on his heel, arched a brow in surprise and just stared at the haughty wrinkle in her nose which he was growing to admire more and more. He made no reply, just continued to stare with a distinct air of amusement which made Cait's temper bubble furiously.

"Oh, just get from my sight will ye" He heard her mutter under her breath as she made a move to be on her way , but Tristan took a quick side step and blocked her path.

"Let me pass, Sir!" Cait demanded as she gave him another muddy shove and slipping past him, she added "I've no time to be dilly-dallying with the likes of you"

Despite himself, he found the audacity of the woman intriguing and somewhat entertaining to say the least, and rather than just getting back in the saddle and going on his way, he felt a roguish desire to press her further, if only for the pleasure of watching that spirited scowl she seemed so intent on casting upon him every time they met.

"You are an ungracious wench, so you are" he mused as he tilted his head back and stared pensively at the woman's retreating figure' "Maybe, that night…I should have left you to your fate with those two ugly grunts."

Cait came to a sudden halt and she could feel the heat of his gaze on her back willing her to turn around, but she was unable find the strength to face him. So, he had remembered her after all. How could that be? She felt a confused mixture of joy, anger and pain. Her tiny fists curled into tight little balls and she bit down painfully upon her lip as she fought to control the surge of emotion at her throat.

"I do believe, I still owe you a sup at the tavern….. If you'd care for it, that is"

"You owe me nothing, Sir" Cait replied hoarsely, deliberately ignoring his previous remark and still not looking back "and I don't sup in taverns with men such as you"

Men such as me? Thought Tristan with an incredulous smile, trying hard to comprehend just what it was that he had said or done to make her so bloody-minded and hostile. It couldn't be all because of a muddy old dress, surely? He'd see better looking sack-cloths. And besides, she ought to be bloody grateful he hadn't ridden right over her. Aye, she was a strange one indeed and plucky too…or just plain stupid.

"Do you know who I am, woman?" it was an arrogant inquiry.

"Know who you are?" she asked, shooting him a contemptuous glance over her shoulder at last "Aye…. but only from the mouths of whores and their brown-eyed, fatherless brats" fixing him with a disgusted glare she added "You're one of King Arthur's lackeys no less! And I'd no sooner take you for a _knight_ than a filthy beggar!"

Her scornful reply made Tristan let out a short gruff chuckle, a disguise of the minor offence he felt from her words. "So, I see you have noticed my brown eyes then" he fired back at her.

"Good day to you, sir" was the only response he received from that and so he just watched, fascinated as she once again went on her way.

Tristan continued to gaze at the haughty sway of Cait's mud soaked rump as she marched off and considered that it was about time he got himself something with a bit more bite. The same old spurious, dirty trollops and lack of bloody combat was becoming so tedious these days. And this little filly might just prove an interesting distraction for a while. She was going to be a difficult one to crack this one (at least he hoped she would) but he was a patient man and besides he had the distinct feeling it would be well worth the effort.

As she was about to round the bend ahead…

"Tristan" he shouted after her "My name is Tristan"

"So what?" came back the sardonic reply as she disappeared from view.

Tristan chuckled throatily at her simple retort, and then he whistled over his waiting stallion and hauled himself back into the waiting saddle.


	4. Chapter 4: The Feeling

**Many thanks to all of you for reading and reviewing! I couldnt do it without you. :)**

**Chapter 4 – The Feeling**

Tristan was bored. Bored of endless days with little else to do but hunt and spar. Bored of endless nights of ale and dice and bored of this damned woman sat on his lap, pawing at his braids and cooing her erroneous bullshit down his ear with her sickly sweet, ale-soaked breath.

They were strange days for Tristan, these days of peace. The last five years since the victory over the Saxon's at Badon, had been spent traversing coast to coast, mountain to moor as Arthur's dream of reuniting the tribes of Britannia slowly became reality. Not all had welcomed it of course, but having to 'convince' these people otherwise, Tristan had always found the most favourable of orders. But now with Arthur's dreams seeming almost complete, the once commander of the regiment of Sarmatian cavalry slaves, who was now King of a vast, unified land, had decided it was time to go home. Prosperity, peace and an ever-patient bride awaited him there.

So for two months now, Tristan had lived the day to day life of a knight-at-arms in a time of amity. This had been the longest stay at Badon fort yet since the five year campaign began and after living twenty years in the thrill of violence and blood lust, these tranquil, almost sleepy days were becoming tedious by the hour for Tristan.

This restless discontent seemed not to afflict his fellow knights, however. On the contrary, they were more spirited and boisterous than ever they were. Revelling in their freedom and saluting these times of peace and plenty night after night and with unfailing enthusiasm. They now talked of their futures, where once they had talked only of today, as if each today would be their last and so it had been the last for many of them. The truth was, Tristan had never considered the possibility of freedom and peace. He had always believed his end would come early in life, bathed in blood and glory upon some wild and worthless battlefield. A prospect that had brought with it no fear, it was merely how it would be. But, it seemed, the Gods had other plans for him, for here he was, spending yet another long and pleasant evening with ale in one hand and a woman in the other. This was the vision of dreams for many, so why did he feel as he did?

An unusual emptiness was growing, where once there had been nothing. Tristan could find no name for and it troubled him.

Sitting quietly, his watchful eyes absorbed the scenes around him from over the rim of his ale mug as the irritating wench continued to maul at his hair and grind her bony bottom into his lap. He could see Dagonet with the mousey haired Fletcher's daughter he was becoming so attached to lately. Just look at him, such a comical sight the two of them were, the little thing barely came up to the height of his enormous chest. Tristan had thought her a plain, uninteresting slip of a girl the first time Dagonet had brought her to the tavern and hell, he'd always known Dag was one ugly son of a whore! And yet even Tristan could see that neither had eyes for any other, seemingly locked in their own secret world and oblivious to all around them. Tristan took another long slug of ale and continued to watch. Just then, the small insignificant looking girl smiled up at her knight and suddenly she was transformed, beautiful almost. He watched, mesmerised as she lifted her hand up high and stroked Dagonet's roughened cheek, stretching up on her toes in order to reach. It was such a simple gesture which Tristan saw made Dagonet's broad chest swell and his scarred face broke into a loving grin. The Fletcher's daughter blushed and Dagonet immediately swept her up into his protective arms and pushed his way through the tavern crowds and out of sight.

Tristan wondered just what it was that had passed between them that could have painted such a look upon his friend's face. Indeed what was that look? It was not the look of lust, although a promise had been made, of that he had no doubt. Out of nowhere, reflections of Cait crept into his thoughts. Where was that woman? It was some days now since he'd almost trampled her to a pulp and he hadn't realised it before, but since that day, he'd been watching for her constantly amongst the hustle and bustle of daily life here at court. A small inconspicuous smile creased the corner of his mouth as he remembered the delightful sight of her mud soaked bottom swaying arrogantly away. If he didn't know better, Tristan would have believed his unspoken musings discovered when a large bellow from Bors suddenly caught the scout's pensive thoughts and his eyes darted over to catch the sight of Bors grabbing his wife, Vanora's rump in both hands and 'way-haying' lustfully. Vanora yelled and cursed loudly as she swung an empty flagon at his shaven head, only for Bors to grab her around the waist and kiss her hungrily.

" Come 'ere, my fiery little viper, come to Bors!" he growled, Vanora's cursing became shrieks of laughter, her eyes clearly filled with the same look as Dagonet's had held a few moments before, as Bors dragged her off with loud protestations of giving her a good lovin', the like of which she'd never known before!

A dull ache filled Tristan's insides and he shifted restlessly as an unexpected greyness fell upon him. With a gentle shove, he dispatched the woman from his lap, unable to stand anymore of her irksome attention. Dismissing her with a simple nod of his head, the woman (who knew better than to make any complaint) simply wandered off in search of a more willing lap to perch upon.

Well, he determined suddenly. If that prickly-tongued little mare with the enticing hips wasn't going to come to him, then he would just have to go to her. He knew it was good reasoning to think she couldn't reside far from that red-head he'd had the night of Arthur's wedding. So it was as good a place to start as any.

Draining his cup, Tristan decided it was time to retire for the night just as Lancelot strode in with his usual harem giggling and fawning over his mop of curly black locks and handsome face. The atmosphere had an unsavoury taste to it, for Tristan this night and he had no real idea why. As he wandered out, he passed Galahad in the clutches of a pretty raven haired girl. He was gazing, mesmerised into her eyes, as she cooed love and promises to him in a silky velvet voice.

"Gods above, what the fuck is up with everyone tonight?" Tristan growled to himself as he stalked off.

...

Several days had drifted by since the excitement of the festivities which had marked the wedding day of Arthur, King of the Britons and his new bride Guinevere and life had settled back to its usual ordinary pace.

Cait had seen little of Ros since the night she had watched Tristan leaving her bed. It was not just by her own choice that she had been able to avoid Ros's company; luck had played her merciful hand, too. With the return of the King, came an army, knights and serfs. Badon was heaving with life and thankfully for Cait, more men and coin than even Ros could keep up with.

Cait still could not trust herself able to hide her bitterness from Ros just yet and was finding lady luck's sudden desertion today, difficult to cope with, as this morning found Ros perched cross legged upon a tree stump watching Cait harvesting the last of her carrot crop from the field behind her hut. Not caring to get her hands dirty, of course, Ros found better entertainment, conveying all the gossip she had not had chance to share with her friend over the last few days….

"Did ya _see_ that woman though, Cait?" It was more a statement of disbelief than question, with Ros shaking her head in disgust. "What does he see in her? She looked starved half to death! Wot sorta' pleasure can a sack of bones like that give a man?" Ros gave a repugnant shiver, just to make sure she was leaving her friend in no doubt of her feelings" and she's a _Woad_ y'know?"

"I think everyone knows that Ros" Cait sighed, not bothering to look up "…and she's also the Queen, so you should watch y'mouth."

Ros gave a huff, "You can truss 'er up anyway ya want, she's still a bloody woad, skinny blue arse or not!"

Ignoring the remark, Cait just carried on pulling up the carrots from the damp earth and placing them into a cloth sac that she'd tied about her waist, praying all the while that Ros would grow bored and just go away.

"He oughta send 'er back to the woods where she belongs, bloody barbarian…! If ya ask me, she aint fit to be here amongst respectable folk like us"

Cait couldn't help but glance up at that last insult, unable to hide the look of sardonic amazement.

"Wot's that look for?" Ros snapped instantly, tossing her fiery red mane over her shoulders.

"Nowt" Cait murmured curtly, looking away once again.

"What the bloody hell, is up with you, Caitie?" Ros demanded, with a brooding scowl creasing the furrow between her brows. "You've bin a miserable little wretch ever since the day the King wed that twig."

"Nowt" was all she muttered yet again to Ros, whilst dipping her head low and trying hard to concentrate on dislodging a particularly stubborn carrot, digging away at it furiously with her fingers tips. But inside she screamed 'For heaven's sake, just go away!'

Try as she might, whenever she was near Ros, she could do nothing but think of that damned knight and when she thought of him, the hurt she felt with every thought of Ros in his arms, cut her till she bled. As was the norm, she managed to twist the hurt into anger, just as now and she soon found herself assaulting the stubborn crop with merciless haste.

"Wot the 'ell does _he _want?" Ros suddenly crowed with a distinct tone of derision "I aint workin' today, an even if I was, he aint welcome!...that bastard short coined me last time! Had the cheek to say I shud a bin paying him!"

Cait looked up sharply, surprised by her friend's sudden change in conversation, her face paling at the sight of the man who was striding towards them, but still some distance away. Ros had already leapt off her perch and was marching off to meet Tristan. For some moments Cait just stared, unable to comprehend just what to do next. He if came towards her now, she would probably flee. If he walked away with Ros, she would die….

...

"Wot ya want with Cait?" Ros asked in disbelief as Tristan brushed her aside, still stunned by the knights abrupt halting of her complaints at his penny pinching, as he informed her, in no uncertain terms, that he was here to see Cait and that she should be on her way if she knew what was good for her. But Ros was not to be deterred without first having her say. Snatching hold of his sleeve she warned.

"Cait ain't what you're lookin' for."

It surprised Tristan to hear the statement laced with genuine concern and not a hint of jealousy.

"Don't ya be getting' any fancy idea's where's she concerned. She's my friend and I'll not have the like of you upsetting her" For all Cait's sharp mouth and stubbornness, Ros knew she could be vulnerable, especially in the hands of a man like this one.

Tristan gave Ros a steady glare "She can look after herself" he grunted, amazed at the impertinence of her remarks and then turned his eyes to the fingers that gripped his sleeve.

"_I suggest you do the same_" it was a low, dangerous growl and one that

Ros felt all too keenly. She had clearly over-stepped propriety and being no fool, saw the time had come for her to be on her way. Her fingers quickly wilted from their grip and Ros retreated toward her own hut, silently cursing him for a devil.

'Women' Tristan thought irritably, why did they always think they had a right to speak to you as they liked, just because you'd hand your hand up their skirt? Insolent little tramp.

A short distance away, Cait had scrambled to her feet and, clutching the carrot sack tight in her fists, was now walking swiftly away.

Giving Ros not a single thought more, Tristan looked towards Cait's scurrying figure making its way swiftly towards her hut door. Where in hell's name did she think she was running off to now? He gave a chuckle when he saw Cait trip and carrots spilled about her feet. Within a few swift strides, he was by her side.

"Hello Cait" it was a simple enough greeting, but hearing the sound of her name spoken with a voice that just dripped with that low husky accent of his, made Cait's breath quiver and her fingers tremble as she tried to rescue her small harvest from the ground. 'What is he doing here?!' She thought desperately, not daring to look up at the figure she was so sorely aware of towering over her.

"Hello Cait" this time he had bent down so close to her she felt the warm breath of the words upon her ear. Cait stood up quickly, trying her damnedest to appear unruffled and unconcerned. She forced herself to meet his eyes and saw that usual dance of mischief glowing beneath his brow.

"I'll thank you not to talk to me, Sir" was the best she could muster as she straightened her back and lifted her small round chin in her favourite haughty manner.

Tristan gave a thoughtful, narrow-eyed frown and cocked his head slightly as he scrutinized Cait stood so resolute before him.

"Tell me woman, why the hell not?"

Cait wavered slightly in her reply, unable to think of one good reason quickly enough.

"Because…because… I don't like you." She could have kicked herself. What a stupid answer, was that the best she could do? But then what else could she say? 'Because you spent the night making my only friend moan and squeal in ecstasy, like the whore she is…and I wished with every bone in my body, it had been me and not her?'

Tristan smiled faintly. "Really?" was his sardonic reply. It was almost as if he'd heard her last thought and Cait felt the rush of heat at her neck, as if she had indeed, said it out loud. A silence fell, a long intolerable silence which made Cait drop her eyes, afraid that he would see deep into her very soul and laugh scornfully at what he found there.

"So..." He said at last, his voice low and husky as he leaned closer "what is it you so dislike about me, my Caitie?"

Oh, blessed Saint's, there it was again, why must he purr her name in such a manner?

"You are ill-mannered…" she accused, once more lifting her eyes to his.

"_Ill mannered_?...Perhaps" He shrugged nonchalantly "have I caused you offence then?"

"…and your voice … your voice has an unsavoury tone to it...foreign-like.." she continued, ignoring his enquiry and becoming bolder as each retort came to mind.

Tristan grunted "Foreign-like? So you dislike me because I am a foreigner, is that it?" Clearly mocking her.

"You are also arrogant…."

Tristan nodded "it has been said…"

"and quite frankly, I don't like the way you smell!" Cait said triumphantly, now full of renewed confidence and blushing no more.

With that last remark, Tristan's amused countenance vanished and he just stared at Cait, his eyes glinting ice cold through his long shaggy locks. Each moment under the unfathomable scrutiny saw Cait's self-assurance threaten to slip away but she fought hard not to allow her own betrayal to show. Suddenly Cait felt his eyes sweep her body and he spoke at last

"and I don't like the way you dress, woman" he growled.

Cait gave a sharp insulted gasp, fingering the mud stained old smock and then pulling self-consciously at the wrap on her head.

"and who's fault should it be that I'm stood here with mud stains on my dress?" she snapped positively livid with affront.

Tristan gave a thoughtful grunt before answering. "I'll be back afore twilight, see that you do whatever it is you women do and tidy yourself up some."

With that, he stalked away - leaving Cait open mouthed in astonished silence.

...

"Damn it!" Tristan hissed as the blade nicked the top of his lip. He could hardly see a thing in the pail of water and now, with half of his beard haphazardly hacked away, he had no choice but to carry on and finish the job. He cursed again, wondering what an earth had possessed him to begin such an idiotic task and for what? The approval of some bad tempered, carrot-picker! Was he mad?

"Allow me, Tristan" The calm, perceptive voice of the knights' life-long squire, Jols requested.

Although he showed not a hint of it, the sound of Jols' voice had startled Tristan. He'd thought himself alone in the large, drafty stable or he'd have never of attempted the normally unthinkable task of shaving. Shaving was not something Tristan care to do often and he'd already made a mental note that he would not be doing so again, any time soon.

Reluctantly, and a looking just a tad shamefaced, Tristan handed his knife to his waiting squire.

"Clean shaven?" Jols asked as he stood behind Tristan and lifted his chin.

"The Christ, no!" Tristan barked and then a little more sheepishly "Just trim it…a bit…you know..."

Yes, he knew, he smiled to himself. Jols knew everything. "Are you meeting a lady, Sir?"

"What!!... No!….it's just too long, itches like a bitch!" Tristan snapped, more than a little irritated at Jols ever sharp observations.

Jols continued to scrape away at the scraggly tough beard with effortless expertise, the same shrewd smile not once leaving his lips.

"If I could suggest a bath, Sir."

"What the hell for? Jols – are you suggesting I smell, too?"

"Not at all sir….." He continued, almost laughing. "I know ladies are partial to the smell of cedarwood…or perhaps lavender"

"You're pushing your luck, Jols" he warned. Jols grinned as he wiped the hair from the blade.

"I'll have the tub prepared, immediately"


	5. Chapter 5: The Wine

**I must first apologise for the length of this chapter…it just kept getting longer and longer, but I didn't want to cut it into two as I felt it would have interrupted the flow. I hope it's not too much all in one go!**

**Again, my sincerest thanks to all of you for reading and reviewing – you keep my muse flowing** :)

**Chapter 5 – The Wine**

The sound of the knight's heavy fist upon Cait's crude wooden door reverberated around her small dwelling, causing the dust to shimmer indignantly down from the thatched roof above. It was a resolute, confident sound which demanded a response and expected nothing less. Cait gave a start as her heart leapt from beneath her lungs, knowing it could be no other than he at her door.

Besides scrubbing her earth-soiled hands until they stung and glowed red from the abuse, Cait looked much as she had that morning. She had taken no heed of his command to 'tidy herself up some!' –the conceited devil - and besides, other than a nightshift and the tired and weary dress she had worn the day she had married Ewen, the ugly grey and now(thanks to that damn man) mud-stained smock that she stood in was all she owned. She had all but convinced herself he would not return anyway, so why worry?

Another thundering assault on her door served to remind Cait how wrong she had been in her assumption.

"Does he have to make such a bloody noise?" she cursed through pursed lips.

Taking a deep breath, Cait composed herself, smoothing down her smock and straightening the wrap upon her head, pulling it low over her ears. She stepped forward, a touch uneasily and slowly lifted the latch to find Tristan stood leaning in her doorway.

He looked up sharply as the door creaked open. He was leant upon the frame, looking at her coyly from beneath his shaggy locks with an appealing smile upon his lips. Holding her countenance well, she merely raised a questioning eyebrow at him and at last he spoke.

"Evenin', Cait" he purred huskily. Cait hesitated; her eyes drinking in the striking vision that stood on her threshold and she felt her pulse began to pound. How dare he stand there looking so damned attractive?

"You look…_clean_" she replied with a casual sniff, trying hard to ignore the gentle throb deep and low in her belly which seemed to stir whenever that low, husky accent breathed her name. But she could not ignore the neatly trimmed whiskers which now revealed just what a fine-looking man he really was. _Had he done this for her_? Cait dared to consider, feeling an enthused smile threaten her pursed lips. But then she saw his warm, amber eyes suddenly lose their glow as they drifted along the length of her body and her smile faded away, unnoticed.

"and you do _not_!" he sneered sarcastically, causing her a stab of shame that the only effort she had made was to scrub the dirt from her nails. "Have you no better rags than that?"

Before she could open her mouth to retort, Tristan strode away to his waiting saddle, rummaged through his saddle pack and returned swiftly back to her door.

"Get this on," he ordered thrusting a green bundle into her surprised hands, "I've got a reputation to think of..." Cait just stared, quite bewildered "And take that god-awful thing off your head while you're at it" he growled, sweeping the greying wrap from her head.

Cait gave a gasp as her long dark hair tumbled to her shoulders. Robbed of her voice, she simply stared at the dress in her hands.

"Hurry up, woman. I haven't all night" Tristan grumbled once more, whilst secretively casting an appreciative eye over the locks that fell so leisurely about her face.

"Is this for me?" She murmured, her disbelieving fingers gently brushing across the soft fabric.

"Well it's not mine," he replied, more genially this time, wondering if her soft brown hair would feel just as it did the first time he had laced his long slender fingers through it's silky locks

Cait drew her eyes up to be met with his own, warm and glowing once more. He smiled faintly, encouraged by the sparkle that seemed to light up her face.

"Where are we going?" she asked finally, not taking her eyes from his.

"The tavern. You have not forgotten I owe you a sup or two?" Tristan leant his weight upon the door frame once more, leaving Cait so sorely aware of his closeness, she swore she could feel an energy flickering between them.

"Of course, we can always stay here if you prefer." Tristan cast a glance over her shoulder as if in expectation of an invitation "Unless, you are afraid to let me through your door." Tristan gave a crooked smile and leant in even closer

. "_Are_ you afraid of me, Caitie?" he whispered huskily, making the hairs on her neck prickle.

Cait swallowed, her throat dry and her senses tingling, responding against her will to his warm breath that gently caressed her cheek. _She must keep hold of her wits_, she thought desperately, _she must_.

"I'm not afraid of you, knight" Cait snapped, desperate to feign indifference. "I just don't like you. And I'll thank you to remember, I'm no whore to be bought with cheap green dresses!"

Tristan gave a wheezy chuckle, breaking the seductive spell "Oh, you need not remind me, that is a truth I'm well aware of!" Leaning up suddenly, he added "Any sinful thoughts are all your own, Cait – I merely suggested we could sup here as well as there. I have a wine skin on my saddle"

Cait pursed her lips as her cheeks began to colour.

"I wont go!" she huffed, still thoroughly peeved that she had fallen into his verbal snare once again "I won't go to a place of drunken scallys and floosies and I certainly won't go with a man like you!"

"Give over with your pious act, woman!" Tristan growled "I'm not a man given to taking what's not offered freely - if it's your precious virtue you're worried about. I want nothing more than a drink and some good company. You'll be safe with me." he paused a moment, reaching out to brush aside a lock of hair that rested against her cheek.

"Put on the dress, Cait" he urged more softly this time, "and come drink a brew in a tavern full of whores, with an arrogant knight you can't stand the sight of. You'll have a fine time!"

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't stop a smile of surrender from sweeping her face and Tristan just stared, taken aback by the change of her features.

"Come on, Caitie" he whispered once more, finding himself unable to take his eyes away from her, warmed by the new radiance of her pretty brown eyes "come with me"

...

Cait stood in the door way, dressed in the long slender nettle green gown. It was creased somewhat and a little tight around the bodice and waist, but that only served to accentuate the swell of her generous bosom above the low rounded neckline and the curve of her well rounded hips. Her hair folded long about her shoulders in sporadic waves and Tristan felt a break in his breath as he caught sight of the vision before him. Who'd have known, if not he, what delights had lay hidden beneath those unattractive clothes? Lost in his thoughts, his eyes caressed the curve of her breasts, thinking how perfect they would fit his hands and her wide hips that just begged him to grab hold and…

She gave him a small, apprehensive smile and lowered her eyes, ensnaring Tristan's attention once more. So unlike the proud, self-possessed woman she always fought hard to be, it dawned on Tristan then, that she really had no idea how lovely she was.

"Well?" she finally mustered courage to ask, feeling evermore vulnerable by the unfathomable gaze he fixed her with.

Tristan hesitated a moment, then gave a sudden nonchalant snort

"You took long enough" he grunted, painfully aware of the ache in his loins which told him he would not be able to keep this woman long from his bed.

Cait frowned, his apparent indifference swathing her with disappointment.

"You have coin enough, I take it?" she snipped bitterly once more "For I'll be damned if I'm buying"

Tristan gave a wry grin from behind his dark locks and led the way to his waiting horse.

...

Leading her to a place in his usual corner, Tristan swept Cait with one more of many admiring glances that evening, as he kicked out a stool with his foot "Sit there" he ordered brusquely.

Cait shot him a disgruntled glare but did as he bade her without retort. She was well aware of the inquisitive eyes that were upon her in the crowded tavern and for the moment had found her usual courage had escaped her.

"Wine or ale?" Tristan asked, his eyes drifting momentarily to the tantalizing swell above her bodice.

"Water" came the curt reply.

Cait was still reeling from the utter indignity of having been hauled up across a saddle against her will when she'd told him time and again she had no intention whatsoever of sharing a horse with the likes of him. Tristan would have none of it of course. He'd be damned if he was going to walk all the way, so he'd simply dragged her up, protesting venomously, knowing full well she would quieten down once he got her in the seat. And so she had - in fact she had simply refused to speak another word to him for the rest of the journey. This had suited Tristan just fine as he'd rather liked that he could enjoy the simple pleasure of her warm body enfolded comfortably within his own, without being disturbed by her petulant complaints.

"You can't have water" Tristan grunted indignantly

"I want _water! _I don't drink ale"

"Everyone drinks ale"

"Not _me_!" she insisted with a stubborn huff. Tristan glowered at her through narrowed eyes.

"Cait, you _need_ a drink!" he hissed as he strode off towards a long wooden bar at the farthest end of the tavern.

Cait watched as he grabbed a large pitcher of wine and two mugs and then made his way back to their place in the corner. Not once did he need to prise his way through the crowds, indeed it seemed to Cait his path just uncurled before him as soldiers and serfs alike simply made way without appeal or complaint. His mere presence demanded a fearful respect, it seemed and by the Gods he got it. Despite how utterly annoying the man could be, Cait felt the slightest budding of pride at the sight of this fine-looking man striding towards her and the sound of the veiled murmurs of several of the tavern's women-folk, all clearly wondering just who this was that sat at his table.

Sitting himself down across from Cait, Tristan carelessly filled both mugs and then slammed the pitcher upon the table top with a thump that made Cait start. Cait stared at the mug before her and then asked warily "Is this water?"

Tristan picked up his own and lent back leisurely in his chair, not for a second taking his dark eyes from hers. Crossing one leg over the other he continued to stare at Cait above the rim of his mug but said nothing. Cait, trying to appear unruffled for all it was worth, couldn't help but shuffle uncomfortably beneath his searing scrutiny. Tristan took a long gulp and set his mug down. Leisurely wiping the droplets from his whiskered mouth, he finally spoke.

"Do you never grow tired of playing the saint, woman?" he mocked huskily "Just drink it!"

"I'd rather not"

Leaning forward suddenly, Tristan grabbed up Cait's cup and held it under her nose.

"Woman, we are in a tavern…will you take a damn drink!"

Cait scowled, snatching the mug resentfully from his hand

"I suppose this is your plan to get me drunk" she snapped accusingly, but Tristan merely replied with an incredulous snort.

"Don't flatter yourself! I prefer the women I take to my bed to be sober...So drink up"

Thoroughly affronted, Cait glared at Tristan over her mug as she finally took a gulp.

"I do believe, y'take great joy from insulting me, knight!"

"Aye" he answered with a blasé nod of his head "You're such easy prey for it, woman"

Cait seethed into her wine but could find no worthy quip. Placing her mug back upon the table, she straightened her back in a vague attempt at dignity and then whined churlishly,

"I don't like it here, I want to go home"

For what seemed an eternity, Tristan just stared, an unreadable frown upon his face. Cait could feel herself shrinking with every second. How she hated that he could make her feel so shamed at her own words with just that one silent look, the infuriating pig of a man.

Leaning forward suddenly, resting his weight on one elbow upon the table, he beckoned Cait closer with the curl of one finger. Unable to resist the challenge, Cait obliged, stopping a hare's whisker short of their noses touching. Tristan stared deep into her dark brown eyes and finally spoke, his voice low and husky

"How is it, a woman such as you, can be such a cold and joyless wench?"

"Don't dare presume to know me, knight" Cait answered, her voice just as low and her eyes holding his with a defiant glow. "I am _not_ cold and joyless!"

"No?" he asked raising a dubious brow "You are in the prime of your life and yet you hole yourself up in that shack of yours, wasting away the best of your years. I doubt you've ever felt passion in your whole life, have you?"

The truth of his words seared through her being like a flaming arrow and she suddenly felt herself heavy with self pity and regret. She pulled away slightly, anxious he may sense it.

"You talk nonsense" she retorted sharply, dismissing the flow of the conversation as she took another gulp of her wine. My god but it had been so long since she had last taken a draft; she had surely forgotten how delicious it tasted. She began to feel the warm tingle flow through her veins and the tension slip away as she took another mouthful, draining the mug. A long silence fell between them in which Tristan watched intently, still leaning toward her on the table.

"You learn quickly, for one who doesn't take wine" he smiled eventually, as he lifted the pitcher and refilled Cait's empty mug.

"You _are_ trying to get me drunk" Cait laughed softly as she raised the mug to her lips once more, feeling more and more relaxed with every mouthful.

Tristan stared, surprised by the sudden change in her countenance, the wine was weaving its charms quickly it seemed.

She looked so pretty when she smiled, he thought as his eyes lowered to the lips he now had a particular desire to taste. Such a pity she did it so rarely. He should bring her here more often. Alcohol clearly worked wonders on her petulance. He wondered for a moment how much more it would take to reveal the true woman inside her.

"Nay, I told you already, I prefer my bed-mates sober"

"Sober?" she laughed dubiously "I wonder you're not a monk, then!"

Tristan chuckled under his breath "I am no monk, I can assure you"

"No I'm sure you're not" Cait replied a faint air of resentment lacing her tone as thoughts of Ros conjured up before her. "I imagine you think yourself quite the rampant rabbit"

"Rabbit?" Tristan scoffed "I'd prefer a _stallion_...but whatever" he shrugged, then adding with a dark twinkle in his eye "maybe it's your wish to play the role of mare that irks you so, my sweet, chaste Cait?"

Cait shook her head and gave an exasperated sigh.

"You really are a conceited bastard, do you know that?" It was not an angry retort, more a statement of fact.

"Aye, that I am" Tristan laughed and then his voice, hushed and serious he asked "and would you Cait?"

Cait felt her heart begin to thump and the heat rise in her throat, a warm woozy feeling crept through her as the wine began to take a hold.

Would she what? Dare she ask? She didn't need to.

"Would y'come to my bed if I asked ya, Caitie?"

"Tristan! You son-of-a-mangy whore! How are ya?" bellowed a stout, shaven headed man. Dragging up a stool he plonked himself at the table next to Cait. Cait relaxed, feeling a confused mixture of relief and vexation at the man's perfectly timed intrusion. Tristan sat back, his face without expression.

"Bors" he grunted in simple welcome.

"So, 'oos this pretty little miss, then?" Bors asked, a broad grin on his large round face, totally oblivious to the moment he had just trampled upon. Cait smiled cordially and gave her name. Bors grinned ever widely and couldn't help stealing a glance at Cait's deliciously low neckline.

"That's a mighty nice name, Cait and a mighty nice ….er… dress you've got on" Cait frowned, somewhat puzzled, considering what a strange thing it was for a him to say when she noticed his eyes lingering down the chasm of her chest. She blushed furiously and Bors felt a sting of embarrassment at having been caught and he began to bumble rapidly,

"Sorry, I didn't mean...I mean't, yer looking fine… y'know, pretty like….my 'Nora's got one just like it….a dress I mean… green an' all"

"Shut it, Bors" Tristan growled, thoroughly irritated.

Bors grinned sheepishly at Cait, relieved to find her smiling back. Her shy blushes had taken him completely off-guard, he never normally felt any shame at grabbing a crafty eyeful down a woman's cleavage, but there was an air of naivety about this woman with Tristan, which made him feel thoroughly guilty that she had caught him doing so. Bors opened his mouth to ask just what she was doing here with the likes of Tristan, when a venomous caterwaul hollered from across the room.

"BORS! BORS!! Wot 'ave ya done with me green dress? I can't find it anywhere! If you've bin usin' it too clean your bladdy swords again, I swear I'll stick that fart arse of yours on a spit, and roast ya til ya dead!! D'you hear me??" It was Vanora, and she wasn't happy.

"I lave it when she's angry!" Bors whispered to Cait, grinning from ear to ear. With that he left the table and Cait heard him cursing his wife for a harpy from hell.

A curious thought suddenly crept over Cait as she looked down at the green dress she wore. She looked up sharply, her eyes glassy from the wine, but Tristan was looking away, his face expressionless and calm. Cait would have dismissed the growing condemnation there and then, had it not been for the betrayal of a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth.

"I want to go home…." She hissed "I want to go home _now_!"

...

"Just get on the horse will you"

"Get away from me!" Cait cried furiously as she stormed on half walking, half running and still slightly the worse for wine – desperate to be back in the safety of her own home.

"How could you do that to me? How could you?" she spat, her breath ragged with the effort of her flight.

"Look, it's just a bloody dress." Tristan growled back as he cantered along side her "I didn't think she'd notice"

"Didn't think she'd notice? _Didn't think she'd notice_? It's_ her_ _dress_ and you stole it! And worst of all, you made me wear it and then took me to where the bloody woman works! God in heaven!!"

"I only borrowed it" Tristan shrugged, mildly offended by her suggestion of his being a thief.

"_Only borrowed it_...? You s_tole_ her dress and passed it off as a gift to me!"

"Actually, I never said you could keep it…you merely assumed…"

Cait almost screamed with frustration. "You utter bastard!.. And just when was y'planning on taking it back, pray tell?"

"When you let me take it off you"

Cait stopped and swung round to look up at him, livid that he could see fit to jest at something she saw as so utterly outrageous.

"That really is not funny, knight… _you_ are not funny…I hate you, do you know that? I really hate you. That woman would have ripped me to pieces if she'd seen me and that would have been your fault! Did you hear the mouth on that woman?"

"Vanora wouldn't have touched you, she's a good woman"

Cait opened her mouth, another barrage of insults ready to thrust upon him but Tristan halted her.

"Yes, yes, I know...I'm a despicable bastard and you'll hate me forever… but no harm done 'ey? Come on, it's a long way home, it's almost dark and it smells like rain."

Urging his horse toward her, Tristan reached down and hauled a surprisingly compliant Cait up beside him. With the touch of his warm hands, her anger seemed to melt away. Despite everything, be it down to the wine or merely just tiredness, she would not fight the relief at not having to trudge the whole way back to her home. Swallowing her pride, she surrendered herself into the curve of his arms.

...

Tristan reached up and swung Cait down from his saddle, his hands lingering a moment longer than was really necessary but she didn't seem to notice. She murmured her thanks and then for a moment, neither of them moved nor spoke. With the journey at an end and their parting now inevitable, there came a sudden return of the lingering greyness Tristan had been experiencing of late. He frowned faintly, dismissing any notion that it could have anything to do with this uppity madam before him. But then a strong desire to kiss her rose within. He fought it, thinking this perhaps not the best of times.

"Wait here" Cait muttered finally as she turned away and tottered a little unevenly back toward her hut, glancing over her shoulder at him briefly before shutting the door. _Was that look an invitation_? Tristan wondered hopefully. '_Wait here_?' …was that really a '_follow me_?"

_Don't be a fool_, he chided. She was no more akin to sultry enticements, than he was to courtly manners. Maybe he'd be able to remedy that in time, but for now he decided to just do as she bade him and wait. How he wished now he'd given her more wine.

The door opened and Cait stood there in a long nightshift, her face still slightly flushed and her eyes glistening with wine. It was a modest garment, reaching down to the ankles and laced high at the neck, but Tristan still grimaced at the lurch in his breeches the sight of her brought.

"You'd better take this" she said holding out Vanora's green dress. Tristan walked forward and took the proffered article. He stared at her for a moment, searching for his next words.

"I didn't intend to upset you…with the dress and that….it seemed a good idea at the time"

Cait stared, somewhat stunned at what seemed a fair attempt at an apology, well for him at least. She eventually smiled and then a tipsy giggle began and before she knew what was happening she found herself swept up into his arms and her lips covered with his own warm, sweet mouth as he walked her backwards into her hut.

Just one kiss, he'd told himself, just one, he knew it was too soon for anything more, but her response was undeniable and he couldn't help himself. He dared to go deeper, tasting her mouth with his gentle tongue. He pulled her ever closer, trying to ease the painful throb in his loins against her firm thigh, whilst his hands caressed every soft curve beneath the thin night-shift which stood between them. It seemed she just melted at his touch and Tristan heard her murmur against his mouth as he kissed her deeper, longer. He could taste the sweet scent of wine on her breath, and he remembered then, this was not truly Cait in his arms, not the Cait he wanted. Tristan ached to bury himself within her and he knew that he could too. Just a little more persuasion and she would open like a flower bud, but instead he pulled away, setting her down as swiftly as he had gathered her up.

Cait gasped her body on fire, her mind confused and giddy with wine and desire.

She stared at him, stunned.

Tristan fought to steady his ragged breath, it had taken every ounce of his strength to give her up and he was feeling the pain of it acutely. He finally dared himself to speak.

"When I said I like the women in my bed sober, Cait…I meant it. You'll thank me in the morning" There followed a long, excruciating silence then…

Tristan ducked just in time as a wooden pail flew past his head.

"Get out!!" she screamed "Get out you vile bastard!"

"Shit!" hissed Tristan, as a stool came hurtling his way.

"Don't ever TOUCH me again!"...another stool… "Don't ever SPEAK to me!" …a pot… "Don't even LOOK at me!!"… a bowl… "You disgust me!… your touch disgusts me...GET OUT!!"

Knowing a lost situation when confronted with one, Tristan left to the sound of shattering pottery upon the closed door behind him.


	6. Chapter 6 The Defeat

**Thanks once again to all of you! You are wonderful! Sorry this has taken sometime to update – you all know what a sloth I am!!**

**Chapter 6 – The Defeat**

Reaching the Badon keep - enveloped in darkness, his pathway lit only by the soft glow of the quarter moon - Tristan reined in his stallion and eased himself from the saddle with a weary sigh, his attention soon intrigued by the unexpected murmur of knights' voices drifting from beyond the stable and armoury door. He hadn't expected to have company tonight, expecting the likes of Gawain and Dagonet to still have their noses buried firmly in their ale mugs or their wench's bosom, as they did most every night these days. Whatever it was that had persuaded them from their women and ale, it must be of some significant import and Tristan was thankful for it, for he had had enough of the exasperating notions which had plagued every step of his journey home and the distraction would be welcome.

That bloody woman...what he been thinking of, walking away like that? He had had her, yielding and wanting and wasn't that all that he had wanted all along? What did it matter to him that a little wine ran through her veins, didn't most of the women he bed? He should have just took her and been damned, for that would have at least rid him of the infuriating prickle she always left beneath his skin. But it seemed, that was no longer enough for him, which could be the only reason he had let her go. He felt a need, a need for something more, something far beyond that of merely the physical but what, he had no idea, only that he knew he would find no peace of mind until she came to him willingly and that meant too, free from the erroneous persuasion of wine. More than once on his contemplative journey back from Cait's hut, he had almost reined his mount around and gone back, but had then thought better of it. Torn between the thoughts that if he did not return to her now and somehow make amends, then she may well be lost to him (for he realised now he had cruelly insulted her, albeit unintentionally so) and the thought that he could not quite trust how he may behave if he found himself on the receiving end of her obstinate rage once again. Yes, he finally decided, he had done the right thing not turning back. It was better he left her temper to cool…better for her at least.

The knight lingered a moment before joining the voices in the stable, to return the understanding nuzzle from his horse, cheered a little by the singular affection the old brute only ever bestowed on himself. '_Forget her' _the soft, gentle snort seemed to say.

'I wish I could, old friend. I wish I could' he muttered under his breath, smiling as the old stallion nibbled at his master's braids and then nudged his cheek firmly, as if scolding him for the fool he was.

...

"I didn't expect to see you back 'ere so early, Jols brought word that Arthur wanted to see us all" Bors hollered, as Tristan led his horse silently to his stall. Tristan merely grunted in reply and greeted the others with a slight nod of his head. "Didn't know where you'd got to! Thought you'd probably be seeing to that pretty little thing you wos with in the tavern, somewhere abouts… I know I woulda bin!"

Bors laughed, a little too loud and a little too long as always. Tristan shrugged nonchalantly and began unbuckling his horse's saddle, paying little heed.

"What '_pretty little thing'_?" Lancelot piped up from his perch upon a tall hay-bale, his interest instantly ensnared "What have I missed?"

"While you woz getting yer 'ands on the ol' smithies daughter, him 'ere wos suppin' with a laverly little mare….name of Cait, if I remember right…. big hearted type, if ya get me drift?!" Bors roared once again as he gestured enthusiastically with his hands as if weighing an imaginary pair of large breasts. Tristan made no comment, despite the unexpected rise of indignation Bors' banter caused him, He merely sniffed and furrowed his brow a little more and continued concentrating on the task at hand.

"Laverly little thing, really laverly" Bors ventured on enthusiastically "wot she see's in that ugly little bastard, I can't tell ya"

"Not a lot, judging by the sour look on his face" Galahad quipped in, enjoying that for once, it was not he that was the focus of fun.

"oh...ay, sent ya packin' did she?" Bors roared over at Tristan once again.

"Do you blame her, Bors? I mean, look at him!" mused Lancelot silkily, with his black eyes twinkling and a wry smile on his lips "I take it, your attempt at good grooming failed to impress?" Tristan ground his teeth, determined not to rise as the subject of Cait was anything but amusing to him at this moment in time.

A hearty chuckle was heard as Gawain took his turn "If _he's_ taken to trimmin' his whiskers for a woman, that can only mean one thing!"

A chorus of bawdy 'way-heys' lifted the roof, which did little to lift Tristan's surly scowl with it, as he hauled the heavy saddle from his horse's back and dropped it to the ground with an indignant thud.

"When ya start shavin' ya chin… _just_ to please a wench enough to get a shuffty under her skirt… you're a lost man, Tris… believe me, my brother...just look what's happened to ol' Dag, here!"

Everyone howled once more as Bors slapped his friend's bristly head affectionately and Dagonet, whose broad shoulders could always bear the weight of his best friend's high jinks, chuckled along, for he loved his Fletcher's daughter and didn't care who knew it.

"Settle down knights!" requested the ever-calm voice of Arthur as he stepped into the stable. "Are we all here, now?"

Shouts of 'aye' rippled around the men as their laughter quietened and their attention all turned to their King.

"I have grave news from the West. Reports have reached me that Deva Victrix has again been the victim of a renegade attack by what is believed to be one of the old tribes of Briton which rests amongst the western mountains. As you know, Deva is home to Auterilis Decimus and his family, one of our strongest allies. They need our protection men and we must heed their call.To have peace in our time we must root out the canker and destroy it before it destroys us." Arthur's emerald eyes flashed across each of his men's now solemn faces. It pained him to have to ask this of them now, when he had promised them time and again an end to war and bloodshed, but he knew they would follow him without question or grievance, as he would any of them. "We will leave tomorrow"

A hushed sorrow seemed to fall upon the men standing before their King in the stable, all of them now feeling the pain of having to bid farewell to their loved ones. Some of them old loves, many of them new. But they were knights and this was who they were and they would never forget that, no matter how hard it would be at times.

"Well! That's fine by me!" Gawain exclaimed suddenly, rubbing his emphatic hands together "and if we're all finished here, I've got a juicy little red-head waiting for me in the village" a ripple of laughter returned to the air and Arthur smiled, gratefully.

"Be sure to back before dawn Gawain – we must leave afore noon" Arthur warned amiably. Gawain nodded and left with a grin firmly fixed upon his face.

As Arthur left, the men began to make ready for the next day's journey, they're banter now somewhat subdued. Tristan said nothing. He for one, had been waiting for such news for what seemed an age, anxious to get back out into the wilds -but if indeed this was the calling he had been longing for these past two months, then just what was it that gnawed away at his insides, fair-near tearing him apart?

...

Dawn was just peeping over the hills as Cait left her hut to get water and logs for her fire. Another sleepless night had left her wretched and drained, haunted by thoughts of that knight and he iniquitous games. How he must love humiliating her.

"Psst" came a whisper as she reached the well "_Caitie_!"

Cait turned to see Ros, her naked body wrapped up tight in a wolf fur and gesturing furiously for her to come over to her door. Bewildered, Cait quietly made her way over.

"_You'll never guess who I've got in here!!_" Ros whispered emphatically, her eyes sparkly with glee as she eased the door open so her friend could see.

For one sickening moment Cait expected the sight of tattooed cheeks and long brown braids strewn upon Ros's furs. She physically wizened with relief when instead, she was met with golden locks and a handsome whiskered face, which snored gently within it's contented sleep.

"It's that knight from the tournament…oh, you remember! Aint he just delicious?!... You know, I don't think I'm even gonna charge him… so long as he promises to come back!" Ros stifled a snicker behind her hand, desperate not to wake her slumbering knight. It had taken her far too long as it was, to finally get her hands on him and she was determined to keep him as long as she possibly could.

Cait couldn't help but giggle along with her, as much with relief as anything else. Ros seemed so thrilled, like a giddy child.

"Gawain!.. Get your lazy arse up – we've places to go!"

Both women jumped, startled by the voice which had somehow crept upon them unheard. They both turned to see Tristan stood there, expressionless as always. Ros threw him a disgruntled glare, furious at the unwelcome intrusion. Cait just turned and walked away without a word.

...

Cait closed her hut door and sat herself down upon a stool in front of her small fire. She felt neither anger nor shame at having seen him again and so soon too, only a deep sadness which weighed heavy on her heart. A gentle rapping sounded at the door, but she took no heed and after a moment or two she heard the door creak open, she said nothing and did not turn around.

"Can I come in?" Tristan's voice was low and sounded almost respectful, which was quite amazing, Cait thought, coming from him.

"Why ask?... you are a King's knight, you can do as you please." It was a flat, expressionless reply and not what he had expected. Tristan hesitated and then stepped in, closing the door quietly behind him as his keen eyes cast about the layout of her modest home, then came to rest upon the figure sat upon a stool before a small crackling fire, her back turned towards him and her long dark hair about her shoulders. Grabbing a seat for himself, he settled beside her. Cait kept her eyes on the dancing flames and said nothing. She seemed somewhat defeated and low to him this morning and the feeling gave him no pleasure. He'd rather the flying pots than this melancholy silence.

"I take it from the lack of your usual scorn, you have forgiven me for leaving your virtue unstained" he asked with a hopeful smile, unable to stand the silence any longer. Cait shot him a scowl but still said nothing.

"ah..you are still angry, I see…is that because I kissed you or because I left?"

"How dare ya suggest I wanted ya to stay?" she finally snapped.

Tristan chuckled, somewhat relieved to see a flash of the old fire back in her eyes "Then I am forgiven? For I showed you mercy…I could easily have not"

Cait pursed her lips, angry that he could always tie her in knots with his words. "You are impossible, knight!" she spat, beaten once again.

Tristan gave a quiet sigh. It always irked him that she never used his name. It was either '_knight_' or 's_ir_' or any manner of insults she could think of, but never his name and he could never quite fathom why. They sat in contemplative silence for a while, both staring into the fire as the flames crackled and leapt at the air.

Eventually, it was Cait who dared to steal a glance at Tristan from beneath her dark lashes. He sat gazing into the hypnotising blaze, the smile now gone from his neatly whiskered face and a dark furrowed brow replacing it. She wondered what thoughts troubled his mind at that moment or was he merely just contemplating what game he could play on her today – who could tell with this man? Believing herself unnoticed, Cait continued to watch him secretly as the flames danced upon his face and reflected attractively in his dark eyes. She wished desperately that it wasn't so, but she could not deny how striking he was and her attraction to him was irrefutable. She felt a light flutter within as she watched him so quiet and almost serene; it was all she could do to stop herself from reaching out and gently touching his face.

She knew full well she ought to be flattered by his attention, grateful and obliging most would say, he was a knight after all - but she did not want to be a prize once won, cast aside and forgotten. Not by him or any man and that was surely the future for her if she gave in to his chase. And he would cast her aside, she was certain, for what did she know about pleasure? How could someone like her possibly please a man like Tristan? He'd be comparing her to all his other women, he would compare her to Ros…how could _she_ ever compare to Ros? Cait's heart waned inwardly, he would tire of her swiftly, once he discovered how useless she was, probably mock her for her bungling ignorance and she could not bear that…not from him. He was right, she had been willing last night, more than willing and she had known what she was doing despite the wine, but without it, she could never have surrendered herself. Not because she did not want him, but because she feared she could not please him. He had shown her mercy and she should be grateful to him for that. Cait swallowed lightly, feeling a sting of emotion rise in her throat.

"I leave today" he spoke quietly, allowing her escape from her threatening tears. "For a while at least" This solemn demeanour of his seemed so strange to Cait and it puzzled her deeply.

"Where are you going?" she asked him tentatively.

"Ah! Trouble in the west." He sighed still not taking his gaze from the flames before him.

"What kind of trouble?"

"Renegades" he answered with a short inexpressive grunt offering her no more explanation than that and Cait needed none. She instantly felt a stab of dismay and was distinctly shaken by its intensity. She'd never imagined the thought of his leaving to face such danger would affect her so.

"How long shall you be gone?" she ventured, almost in dread of his answer.

Tristan simply shrugged in reply and silence fell between them once more as Cait turned back to stare into the flames before her, beginning to feel quite bereft.

"Will you be missing me when I am gone, perhaps?" Tristan asked suddenly. His tone lifted somewhat as he leant back upon the stool and flashed a rather searching glance at the woman by his side.

"I will not! I shall welcome the peace!" Cait retorted quickly, immediately regretting her words. The sudden enquiry had caught her off guard and she fought to stay the flush rising to her cheeks.

"And what if I should meet my death? Would you miss me, then?" he continued, leaning towards her until his face almost touched hers. Cait's heart missed a beat, pounding from the emotions that swam through her body. She could not answer him, she would not. The moment she spoke he would know she was his, she would be powerless in his hands. His scent drifted temptingly towards her, teasing her senses. His was the scent of the forest with a ghost of musky wildness that seemed to call to her most primitive instincts. Cait fought desperately the urge to lean closer and taste him.

"I'm thinking you will miss me well enough," He whispered huskily as he kept her gaze determinedly "I see that hunger in your eyes…how long has it been, my Caitie?"

Blessed Saints but she could take no more of this! She must not give in for he would surely make her love him and he would break her heart. Cait stood up quickly, instantly shattering the spell.

"I would sooner bed a thousand Woads than you, Sir! And well you know it!" she breathed heavily, clearly agitated.

Tristan gave out a fractious growl and stood up besides her, the look of exasperation quite plain upon his face. He almost had her then, he was sure of it. She played this game well, far too well for his liking. Her defiance, that had once been so amusing to him, was now becoming rapidly tiresome and annoying, her words cutting and painful.

Staying his growing anger, Tristan made one more attempt at seduction. He reached out and took her face within his gentle palms. Cait's first instinct was to pull back from the embrace but his hands felt so warm and his eyes looked at her with such earnest, such entreaty that she could not move.

"Say my name" He spoke quietly. Cait looked at him puzzled.

There was seriousness in his eyes, one she had never seen there before. It had been easier to dismiss his teasing advances when they were projected with his usual mischief but today was different. He was different. Cait didn't know how much longer she could hold on.

When she did not answer he said again more forcefully

"Say my name! You never say my name. I want to hear your voice speaking my name. Now say it" he reached out a finger and touched her lips "_say it_" he whispered once more.

"I will not!" Cait hissed, finally finding the strength to pull herself back from his grasp. Tristan snarled angrily, frustrated by her consistent obstinacy. "Despite what you may look like, you are still the King's knight and I am …well I am just me…a nothing. I cannot call you by your name!"

"Why not?" He demanded, frowning darkly across at her. "What are you so afraid of?"

"You are…." she stuttered. "Well… to use your name! That would be …. Your rank forbids it! It is a liberty of friends and lovers."

"And that would never do between_ us _now would it, woman?" He replied with a heavily sarcastic tone. "Are we not friends then, you and I?"

"No!….Yes!...no.. Oh! just leave me be!" She yelled as she stamped across to the door and flung it open, leaving him in no doubt that the visit was over. He had lost control of the game, as sure enough a mere game it had been to him to begin with. He had greatly underestimated her resolve, she would never surrender. She was as proud and stubborn as he was. But it was at that moment, as he watched her stood straight backed and resolute, holding the door wide for his departure, that he knew he couldn't end it. She had somehow crept in and curled herself around his soul. She had won the game and he feared, with it his heart. How would he ever convince her of that?

"I am a patient man, Cait. But I won't wait forever." The words tasted of falsehood upon his tongue, unnerving Tristan with the depth of its suggestion. If he was waiting for her reply he wasn't to hear it as just then, the door to Ros's nearby hut swung open to the sound of giggling and laughter as Gawain came stumbling out adjusting his breeches and fastening his belt. "You come by and see me again, d'ya here me" Ros was heard to drawl from within as Gawain laughed and promised that he would most definitely be paying her another visit. Spying Tristan stepping out of the hut across the way he called out,

"Tristan, my elusive friend. What are you doing here at this hour of the morning?" then throwing an amiable grin toward Cait who stood still holding the door, he asked "Just leaving?"

"Arthur sent me to fetch you. Have you already forgotten the small problem of the renegade tribe? We must leave before noon, so shift yourself" Tristan grunted with an air of sarcasm, as he walked over to his horse and pulled himself up into the saddle.

Unfazed, Gawain continued to grin at the woman still stood in the doorway.

"Well hello.." he smiled. "And who might you be?"

Cait couldn't help but smile back at the knight and tell him her name; he had such a genuine and handsome grin.

"Gawain, we have a job to do!" snapped Tristan, irritated by the ease with which everyone else could get a smile out of that infuriating madam, except for him.

Ignoring Tristan, Gawain continued.

"Ah…you must be the little lady that's been occupying our Scout here. I've been hearing all about you."

"_Christ_" Tristan growled under his breath.

"I am not!" Cait answered. Now much more in control "I'm sure there's plenty of women _he's_ been entertaining, but I'm certainly not one of them!"

"Really?... then more fool him!... I beg your pardon my lady, where are my manners, I am Gawain, at your service!" A laugh escaped Cait's lips as he stepped forward and took her hand, gracing it gallantly with a light kiss. His mock chivalry and obvious needling of Tristan amused her greatly, in a fleeting moment of malevolence, she decided to play along with the ruse perfectly. Curtseying, she replied in a low seductive tone.

"You need no introduction, Sir Gawain. I know who _you_ are" Gawain gave her a mischievous wink and raised his eyebrows toward Tristan behind him. Cait laughed again, enjoying for once being the teaser and not the teased.

Tristan seethed in his saddle, incensed to hear her speak Gawain's name in such tones and laughing so easily at his quips.

"Gawain!" he barked, impatient to be rid of this maddening charade.

"Forgive me, my lady. I fear I must depart." Gawain said with a smile "I'm sure we shall meet again… soon"

"Farewell, Gawain" Cait replied as the knight walked off to retrieve his horse.

Still laughing, Cait glanced over at Tristan whose face was as black as thunder. He just stared, his ice-cold eyes piercing through her. The sound of her laughter faded quickly beneath the glare and she stood there feeling suddenly awkward and ashamed.

"You ride out to the west, then?" she finally asked, buckling beneath the painfully obvious tension between them. It was a pathetic attempt to make amends and she didn't know why she felt she must try, but a feeling of shame grew with every excruciating moment. Tristan continued to glare at her, simply refusing to reply.

Cait tried again, feeling more and more uneasy beneath his dark scowl. "Will you come back soon?"

"Come back?" he sneered, feeling the strong desire to cause her as much pain as he was now feeling "I see nothing in my sights worth coming back here for"

With that, he turned the horse on its heel and sped off, leaving Gawain behind as he was just hauling himself into his saddle.

As she watched his retreat, the pain of his words seared through her heart. She was such a fool; now she may never see him again. She wept inwardly, unable to stop the sting of remorseful tears gathering upon her lashes as he disappeared into the distance.


	7. Chapter 7: The Return

**This is the penultimate chapter - I hope you enjoy it!**

**Chapter 7 - The Return**

Some six weeks and two days since they had left for the west, Badon fortress saw the return of its king and his knights. All much as they had left, barring a centuria of some of his finest men, (ordered by Arthur to stay at Deva Victrix in readiness for any more unlikely reprisals) and half an ear, which Dagonet carelessly misplaced during one of several minor skirmishes they had encountered whilst scouring the surrounding mountains for the troublesome renegades. Satisfied their job was at last done and the enemy finally rooted out and brought to heel, Arthur had at long last given the order the knights had longed for – the order to return home.

Arthur had promised a feast would be had in the great hall on their arrival, a homecoming feast in honour of his knights, his army and their victory at Deva Victrix. 'Let it be the end to all violence which has tainted this beautiful isle for so many centuries', he had declared, to grateful cheers from all. All that is, except Tristan, whose ubiquitous ill-temper still simmered away beneath his silence, just as it had since the morning they had left.

She still haunted him, no matter how hard he tried to forget, every thought of her leaving him angered and confused, even though the very idea of his being ensnared by the fascination of a woman seemed unthinkable and absurd to him. By day he hated her, trouncing her memory, vowing to himself that no more would he brood over the unworthy, insolent slattern. But then, as the loneliness of night crept upon him, so his hostility would ebb reluctantly away and he'd see her smiling, standing in the door way wearing that blasted green dress and his heart would ache, remembering how she had felt in his arms and he would curse himself for ever having walked away.

He had tried a few of the women at Deva, for there were plenty willing, with comely figures enough to tempt any man to forget his woes. They would surely rid her from his mind, he had reasoned, but the brief carnal interludes did nothing but crush his heart ever more painfully and leave his mood ever more fractious. It was she he wanted swathed across his lap, it was her mouth he wanted caressing him, no one else it seemed, would do - it was all he could think of, her face, her hands, her mouth, her scent. He'd found no relief inside the women of Deva – only mild repugnance and regret. In the end, he'd taken to disappearing out into the wilderness at night, preferring to sleep under the stars, alone with just his dreams of her as his companion and lover.

Upon sight of the gates at the great wall, Arthur had sent their squire, Jols on ahead with orders for the celebrations that night. Extra serfs would need to be recruited to work in the kitchens and serve the tables, entertainment organised, food prepared and guests invited. Every dignitary, officer, knight and his lady were to be in attendance by order of the king. As Jols prepared to ride ahead, Gawain hailed him hold a moment, spurring his horse to Jols' side, as he did so. A murmured exchange followed, Jols nodded and then rode off as Gawain threw a sly glint towards an oblivious Tristan, who sat slouched in his saddle, biting at his nails with the same old dark scowl painted across his face.

…….

"Damn and blast it!" Cait swore under her breath as she tripped on the hem of the long, dark blue dress for the umpteenth time that evening. If she made it to the top of these winding stone steps without the wine upon her tray spilling to the floor, it would be a miracle. The dress was too long and the sleeves almost covered her small hands but it was the best the kitchen staff could find for her in the servants coffer. She was to wait on the tables, they had been told, not work in the kitchens, so she had to look presentable, especially in the presence of the King and Queen. She wore her hair simply, a single plait which hung like a thick hunk of rope down her back and her face and hands were scrubbed clean. It was the best she could do given the notice she had been given. 'The king's orders', the squire had told her, when she had protested the request that she attend the keep. There was to be a grand feast that evening, more women were required to wait upon the tables than were usually needed and she was to be one of them. Odd though the order seemed, what could she say? It was the king's orders after all. But were there not women enough nearer the fort than she? Cait had finally nodded her compliance and the squire had simply returned it with a courteous smile and then turned to leave, just as a fierce combine of hope and fear suddenly gripped Cait. So if the king had returned… had all his knights, too? Cait had dared not to ask, the very words sticking fast in her throat, causing her actual physical pain as she tried in vain to summon the courage to ask the departing squire.

The day Tristan had ridden away from her, had been the day Cait had fallen victim to all the cruel games played by guilt and shame. She had seethed with rage, wept hot, choking tears, wallowed in self-pitying silence, eaten little and slept even less - every moment a reminder of her stupidity, her loneliness, her regret - until at long last, a heart's confession of the agonizing love she felt for him, left her heart-broken and shattered – She became quiet and sullen, lost in the knowledge that he was gone and may never return and there was nothing she could ever do about it.

Cait had somehow found the strength to call out to the squire, now hauling himself up onto his horse's back, but still struggled to form the words she so desperately needed to impart. Jols had looked back and graced her with a kind, understanding smile.

'They are all home safely, miss' he reassured knowingly, without her having even uttered another word.

……..

Voices, laughter and merry music echoed in Cait's ears as she reached the top of the steep, spiral steps. Her heart pounded and her hands shook, making the silver wine pitcher and goblets, tinkle precariously upon the tray she carried as she stepped through the open passage way into the great hall. 'Keep to the lesser tables' she had been told in no uncertain terms by the portly housekeeper, Mathilda, who had at once recognised Cait's distinct lack of experience. But Jols had been adamant that she must serve tables and not pluck game as Mathilda had stubbornly insisted that was all she looked capable of. She had given in, albeit begrudgingly, but as he had conveniently not stated which tables the grubby fingered, field hand was to serve, Mathilda saw it as her duty to ensure that she at least didn't get near the tables of the more affluent of guests.

Despite this being just one more of several trips she had made up to the great hall to serve, her hand still shook as she refilled the goblets of the greedy merchants and their fat wives. She was more than aware of the grand table which stood far across on the other side of the hall. She was aware of the handsome king sat there with his slender, graceful looking queen. She was aware of his boisterous knights sat around the table next to them and she could sense Tristan with every trembling fibre - but she had dared not look, not even one glance.

"Well, well…what have we here?"

Cait looked up, to meet the warm, smiling blue eyes of Gawain stood at her shoulder.

"I could hardly recognise you from so far away! I thought Jols had failed me!" he laughed and cupped her glowing cheek affectionately. "You look tired, Cait and a little scrawny around the gills…have you not been well since last we met?"

Cait let out a nervous chuckle, shocked that he should even remember her name, let alone care how she fared. "I am fine, Sir Gawain, tis nothing."

"Hmmmm…" he mused, his eyes glinting mischievously "I do believe I have a friend with the same malady…!"Cait frowned, puzzled by his words. "Come…we have need of drink at my table"

"Oh no, Sir…I have been told I mustn't serve the high tables!" She replied, suddenly alarmed.

"Nonsense!" Gawain roared jovially as he leant forward and placed a kiss on Cait's forehead, "follow me!"

It was all the astonished woman could do to keep up with the knight's long strides.

In all his life, Tristan could never remember a time he felt as he did, the moment he looked across the room to see what it was that had caught his friend's attention. He thought his eyes deceived him cruelly; surely it could not be Cait stood there – what joke was being played upon him, what was she doing here? A momentary rush of pleasure tore through him, drenching the festering pain he had been carrying for so long and he almost leapt across the room to get to her. But he stopped himself, the sight of the unheard and seemly intimate exchange between herself and Gawain promptly quenching the moment, replacing it with a dark, bubbling fury.

"Tristan….a gift!" Gawain laughed, as he sat himself back down, completely unaware of the mood that had taken hold of his friend.

"Ah, woman! A drink if you please" called out Lancelot, waving his goblet above his head as she approached the table. Cait, her hand shaking more than ever before, obliged best she could and then, both thrilled and terrified, she lifted her eyes, desperate to meet those of the man who made her heart weep with love.

The new found sparkle in her eye flickered and died almost instantly, for she found no reciprocation in the icy-cold glare that met her. Cait withered, all her fears now realised and her hopes blighted. They stared at each other in stony, painful silence – neither willing nor able to say a word. Cait could stand it no longer; escape was now her only choice. But just as she moved to flee, Tristan slung three grubby pennies across the table towards her. They bounced and flipped their way across the wooden top, one rolling off and landing soundlessly in the reeds that adorned the dusty floor.

Cait stood, unable to move once more and then dared to look up at the knight again, completely bewildered.

Tristan stretched lazily back into his chair, as if to get a better look at the woman from beneath his contemptuous brow.

"My charm obviously failed to woo you into my bed, woman – therefore, like all your kind, I contend that only coin will do." He gave a slow, scornful smile as his expression grew dark and dangerous "Three pennies is more than enough, I'm sure."

Tristan's voice dripped sarcasm and his eyes glinted with contempt. Cait began to pale as the offence began to register. She hesitated, afraid of betrayal by her own voice and then she managed to respond, albeit a barely audible whisper,

"You insult me, Sir!"

"What? You want more?" Tristan sneered, finding her humiliation most gratifying "You over estimate your worth"

Cait winced at his words, mortified by the sense of every knight at the table now staring at her. But she was determined not to be beaten. She took a steadying breath, renewing her courage and spat back.

"I'll not play the whore for you or anyone else, not even the pope himself!!"

"Careful now… that's blasphemy!" Tristan grinned darkly "Arthur could have you flogged for that."

"Better flogged than suffer the offensive of your filthy hands upon me! Sarmatian pig!"

Cait flounced from the table before all bore witness to the tears that welled up in her throat. She'd rather die than give him the satisfaction of that victory.

"Well, bravo Tristan!" Said Lancelot, giving him a slow, mocking round of applause. "You make the last six weeks of our lives a total misery with your insipid moping about and surly temper, to entertain us with that wonderful display of public relations!"

"You could have shown the slightest grace, Tristan. I went to a lot of trouble to get her here today." Gawain grumbled over his goblet of wine "Did you not see the look on her face when she saw you?"

"Tristan, you're such a damned uncivilized animal where women are concerned, aren't you?" Galahad chimed in, "I'd stick to your whores, if I were you. You shouldn't be allowed near gentle-maids!"

'_Gentle-maid??Cait??_' Tristan thought to himself, amazed – they had no idea!

"Wotcha go and upset 'er like that for?... 'eartless bastard!" Bors slurred drunkenly across the table.

Tristan could hardly believe what he was hearing. She's the one that's kept _him_ at bay with her temper and her insults, flirting with Gawain under his nose and not even so much as a '_farewell'_, '_safe journey' _or bloody well '_kiss my arse!' _when he was leaving to face enemy - and they chastise _him_! - '_Show her the slightest grace'_ Was Gawain for real? He should have pulled her over his lap and whipped her backside for her, uppity wench! In fact, where was the infuriating madam?

Tristan was just in time to see her figure scurry through the far door of the great hall. '_Sarmatian pig'_? he'd give her 'Sarmatian pig!' Fuelled with the overwhelming desire to confront her, just one last time, Tristan suddenly rose up from his seat, his heavy chair scraping noisily across the floor as he did so, causing all his companions to turn to him and stare. Having no time to think he grunted,

"I need to take a piss" and then turned swiftly to follow in Cait's exiting footsteps. He'd taken but two steps when a riotous chorus of '_wayheys_' echoed behind him.

"Speed Tristan!! She's getting away!" Bellowed Gawain as the table erupted into peels of laughter.

...

Cait moved swiftly along the cold stone hallway towards the winding stone steps that led down to the enormous castle kitchen. How many times had she imagined that moment, seeing Tristan again? For six long weeks she had tortured herself with thoughts of his never returning again. Night after night spent weeping and lamenting her sorrow to naught but her own shadow, desperate that he should know how sorry she was, for she had caused him such pain, she had seen it in his eyes that last day and no matter how hard it was for her to believe it so, such pain could only be felt by one who truly cared. But she must surely have lost him now; his eyes had beheld her with such contempt. Cait felt a fresh well of tears gather and had to stop, balancing her tray in one hand in order to wipe them from her eyes with her sleeve. Suddenly, her arm was snatched from her face causing a startled yelp to escape from her lips. Her tray clattered to the floor as she felt herself dragged back down the cold, echoing corridor and then flung into a dark alcove, just before a spiral staircase which led up to a room high in the north tower.

"You take far too many liberties with that tongue, woman" Tristan snarled as he pinned Cait's shoulders painfully to the hard stone wall. "You have insulted me for the last time"

"_Let me go, _you barbarian dog!" cried a startled Cait, trying to struggle from his grasp. "How dare you be touching me!!"

"You forget your place too easily…" his voice was deathly quiet, his mouth a grim line. "….don't make the mistake of forgetting who I am……I am a _knight_" He spat "and you are nothing more than a cheap field lackey"

Cait, although terrified bit back at him bravely. "You think yourself a _knight_, sir?...You _forget_ where you come from, slave!"

Tristan let go of her shoulders and grabbed her chin roughly, pushing her head back against the stone wall,

"Aye woman, that I may be… but _you_? …you are subject to _my _will" he hissed slowly "…_and you will bend to it_."

Cait gave a cry and clawed at his hand,

"Aye…That's more like it!" She cried, her heart bursting from her lungs "You can't charm me… you can't buy me and so now you're going to force me!... is that it?"

Tristan sneered darkly "_You think yourself the Queen of Sheba_!"

"Do I, by the Gods?? …Tis not _I_ that chases _you_ like a lovesick dog after a bitch in heat!" Cait hissed back, trying to peel away his stinging fingers from her face.

"_Lovesick dog_??" he snarled, gripping harder "I could take any bitch here, I wanted!"

"Then do so, sir and leave me be!..." Cait cried again, thumping at his chest. "…If there are any left, you have not touched already!" Tristan snatched up her wrists and held them fast, shaking her and forcing her to meet his gaze. He could read her eyes like a book, tear filled and angry as they were and it suddenly dawned.

"Is that it?" he demanded, finding his rage ease slightly, "That red-headed strumpet...is she the reason you've tortured me for so long?"

"Let me be!" Cait wailed, trying vainly to twist her wrists free.

"Gods alive woman, but you're stubborn!!..You'd think you were a wife betrayed!" Tristan almost laughed aloud "What loyalty did I owe you?...remember Cait, it was you who left no doubt that day that y'wanted nowt to do with me….so where is the wrong I have done you?...You behave like the vixen with the sour grapes!"

Just then, the sound of drunken singing echoed down the hall, followed by the hefty shadow of Bors as he swaggered into the hallway. He stopped at the sight of Tristan and Cait pressed up against the alcove. Swaying slightly he laughed, slurring a little "Oops! sorry….I need to take a piss, too!"

Tristan swore under his breath, Bors' inconsiderate timing inflaming his anger once more.

"Come with me" he hissed, pulling Cait firmly behind him as he made his way up the stone stairway and into the north tower, stopping only when they reached a large wooden door. As the door swung open, it became apparent to Cait that these must be his quarters. A burning hearth, a single fur strewn cot, a small array of weapons and a bundle of clothes upon the floor. She pulled back sharply causing Tristan to look back. He huffed irritably, knowing her thoughts.

"Gods woman! I'm not going to hurt you!" Cait stood firm, fixing him warily "I'm a lot of things, Cait. But a defiler of women, I am not."

Had his fury of just a moment ago still raged, she would have fought with her life to free herself. He was still angry but, she believed, no longer unpredictably so. She resisted a moment longer and then slowly, tentatively she allowed him to lead her in. Once inside, He let go his hold and slammed shut the heavy wooden door behind her.

Cait stood quite still, awkwardly rubbing the sting from her wrists as Tristan strode across the room and leant himself against the small stone fireplace, his head lowered and his back toward her. They both stood silently like this for what seemed an age, with Cait's courage beginning to return as Tristan's anger began to ease and with neither quite sure what to say next.

Eventually, Cait heard Tristan let out a long, exasperated sigh.

"By the Gods woman, have you not tortured me long enough….what will it take to have you?"

Cait, shocked by the startling plea, retorted as only she knew how to "As you said, Sir, you could have _any_ woman here, why waste y'time on me?"

"I don't want _any_ woman!" Tristan growled, turning sharply and grabbing her face with both his hands. Cait gave a start, but did not protest.

"I want _you!...You Cait,..._in my bed…right now!!" he demanded desperately, his lungs rising and falling with every breath. He had tried to fight it but he knew now it was useless. Cait could find no words to answer him, mesmerised by the hungry fire that burnt in his eyes.

"Do you truly find me so repulsive, my lady?" he whispered hoarsely, drawing her face close to his own, "Have I really no chance at all?"

Cait dropped her eyes, trembling as she reflected on his words, hardly able to comprehend what she was hearing. Could he truly be in earnest? She looked back and felt her body ache at the sight of him, knowing it was only her pride now that refused to allow her to take his hand and go straight to his bed. She wanted him as passionately as he wanted her, but still she feared it more than anything else she could imagine. Tristan saw the look and mistaking her fear for the want of escape, he quickly added

"Do you realise what it would mean for you to accept me…to have my protection?" he was desperate for anything that would keep her at his side.

Cait immediately stiffened, stung by the suggestion.

"Your protection for my body, is that it?" she demanded icily "You really do think me nothing more than a whore don't you. Just because I am penniless and alone, you truly believe you can have me bide your wishes for a few coins?"

"Crying out loud, woman!! I don't just want you to share my bed…" he yelled, kissing her mouth hard "I want you to share my life! Do you understand what I'm saying.?" There, he'd said it. He'd no idea where the words came from, but he had meant every one.

"You mock me!" she wailed suddenly as she snatched away his hands and fled to the door. Tristan took after her, grabbing the scruff of her neck he wheeled her around and slammed her up against the wooden door. Cait whimpered as the metal rivets pressed painfully into her flesh. Paying no heed, Tristan pressed himself against her and leant in close to steal another kiss but Cait turned her head swiftly to the side. Tristan, hungry and desperate, breathed heavily into her ear.

"Kiss me, Caitie" he demanded. By the Gods, she wanted to kiss him more than anything. Just the smell of him left her wanting. "Just one more kiss, that's all I ask and I'll let you go, I swear!"

She knew he would never let her go, she didn't want him to. Cait gave a gentle gasp as he lent even closer, the tip of his nose gently stroking her soft cheek, nudging her, coaxing her. She felt the light tickle of his whiskers, the warm whisper of his breath. She closed her eyes as a shudder ran the length of her body. Turning her head back, she found her mouth covered with his as he kissed her greedily, his warm, intoxicating taste filling her with every breath.

Tearing away the dress from her shoulders, he smothered her yielding flesh with fervent, hungry kisses, nipping at the swell of her bared breasts, leaving Cait breathless beneath his ravenous touch. Pulling her into his arms, he threw her onto his bed. Cait just lay there, heart pounding, unable to move, wide eyed with both astonishment and desire as he cast off his tunic and threw it to the ground, then feverishly ripped at the laces of his breeches. He sighed in relief as he released himself, falling down alongside Cait as he kicked off his boots and threw off his trousers. He kissed her again, silencing her half-hearted protests as he slid her dress up to her waist, exposing her milky, white thighs. He looked down, his eyes greedily grazing along the length of her long legs and then he leant low to kiss each thigh, causing Cait to gasp, shocked by such intimacy but wanting him never to stop. His lips began exploring every inch of her flesh, moving closer and closer to her feminine scent which intoxicated his animal senses, making him desperate to claim her, to make her his. Cait stifled a moan with her hand, as his hot silky breath, caressed her most delicate of places.

'Cait, Cait' he murmured, as he tasted her, gently teasing and then devouring her juices. Cait almost wept as she surrendered to him, her whole being swimming in sensations she'd never believed her body could feel as he coaxed her nearer, nearer to the edge of some unknown precipice. Tristan felt her tremble begin and moved away, anxious for the moment to last. He tore at her bodice, and swiftly freed her of her dress, flinging it down to the floor. He sat up for a moment, allowing his eyes to drink in the vision of glistening flesh that lay beside him. Cait blushed, trying to cover her nakedness with her hands.

"Nay lass," He whispered gently, taking her hands in his, "Have no shame, for you are beautiful" He kissed each breast tenderly, her neck, her mouth, slowly deeply. Enfolded in his arms, Cait could feel his sex hard against her and she trembled all the more, swept away by the voracious need that pulsed painfully between her thighs in response.

"Touch me, Cait" he begged of her passionately. "touch me.."

A sudden apprehension gripped and she felt her confidence being to wane

"I don't know what to do," she whispered "I don't know how to please you"

Tristan saw the tears fill her eyes and at that moment he understood everything. He stroked her face and shushed her gently, kissing her moistened lashes one by one

"My sweet Caitie, you have never loved, have you?" He took her hand and kissed her fingertips one by one, "I will show you how to love, my lady." He murmured, lowering her hand, guiding her rhythmic strokes. The feel of his wide, velvety length, so silky and hot within her hand, the sound of his low impassioned groans made her feel suddenly wanton and she moaned as her body began to reply to his desire in spasms both agonizing and delicious. She wanted more, she wanted him inside her. She felt her body arch towards him, imploring him to take what she offered. Letting him go, she lay back down, unfolding like the petals of a rose. She was ready for him and he heeded her call, poising above her, teasing her in and out tenderly, feeling her moist heat readying him for the moment he would make her his.

Cait could take no more, her body longing to take everything he had to give. She grabbed him and pulled him in, crying out as he slide deep inside her, feeling not pain but the most indescribable pleasure. She gripped him, her fingers bruising his flesh, wanting him deeper, harder, meeting him stroke for stroke, desperate for that unknown something that seemed to lie so tantalisingly close. Tristan fought her frantic hunger, instead taking slow deliberate strokes, savouring every moment, breathless from the feel of her taut, slick body which sheathed his in such mesmerizing bliss. He cried out suddenly, fighting to stay the sweet release that threatened so close now, yearning to feel her first awakening of love in his arms. And then it came. Her body pulsed around him, tighter and tighter, shuddering, soaring, exploding amidst her blistering cries and he let go, roaring as his life burst forth within her, exalting in the moment of pure ecstasy so intense, so volatile, his whole body shook as a rush of unimaginable emotion crushed at his heart. Gasping, he collapsed into her arms, holding her ever tighter, gently kissing her eyes, her cheeks, her lips, her neck as she sobbed his name over and over. He knew then, at that moment his heart was lost.. for she possessed him body and soul...and always would.


	8. Chapter 8: The Beginning

**So here it is at last – the end! Thank you to all you wonderful people who have stuck with me until the end. I hope I haven't disappointed. :)**

**Chapter 8 – The Beginning**

The soft hazy glow of the autumn dawn stole its way tentatively around the lovers curled up in each others arms. Cait murmured softly in her sleep and Tristan opened his eyes slowly, peering down through half opened lids at the mass of dark hair and naked flesh that coiled itself so possessively around his own. He gave a comfortable sigh, long and silent, pulling her closer and kissing the sleepy head that lay snuggled upon his chest. He had never expected this, this feeling of joy and pain, of peace and exhilaration. Lying there in his arms she was his - utterly, completely his, but for how long? In the light of the day, would she accept him still? Would she be his-body and soul, as he was now hers? Surely she must? Those weeks without her had been desolate and bleak, and never again did he wish to endure such emptiness.

He kissed her hair once more and gently caressed the thigh that lay across his own. Cait stirred, shuffling closer and Tristan felt the throb of desire rise quickly as her leg grazed teasingly over him. He wanted to love her again, but was loath to wake her, afraid of loosing her once more. He pulsed ever more painfully as he thought of the night that had passed, making love to each other so many times, in so many ways, until finally exhausted, they had fallen into contented lumber.

Swathed in the protection of darkness, she had proved an enthusiastic lover. Her timidity had flown, replaced by a delightful wantonness, thrilling him with her inexperienced touch as her fingertips explored and discovered. In those hours of passion, she had given him her all, as he too had given himself to her and he swore in his life, he had never known such love from the touch of a woman's hands before - Lust often, both selfish and insincere – but never love such as he had known that night. He had been worshipped and cherished so completely, that he swore no other man could possibly have been so, before. A sudden agony crushed at his heart and he knew it was his love for her that bore him such pain. Cursing passionately, he rolled swiftly atop the woman in his arms, causing her to gasp with surprise as he covered her mouth with his own and kissed her hungrily. Thinking no more of what had passed, but instead wanting only to satisfy the agonising pound of his heart and to possess her once more, he ravished her lips, her neck, her breasts with ever growing intensity and need. Startled from her sleep and confused by the ferocity of his passion, Cait began to struggle but Tristan pinned down her arms, holding then fast above her head with one hand whilst the other reached down and eagerly searched the heat between her thighs. Cait continued to squirm beneath his weight, inflaming his desire all the more, but she could do nothing but yield, as he now sucked greedily at her soft breasts, teasing her hard peaks with his tongue as he slipped his fingers in and out of the folds of her moist, hot flesh, urging her to receive him. Cait, quickly over-come, moaned with passion

"Open your legs…" Tristan demanded, his voice smoky and desperate as he raised himself up and smothered her mouth with bruising kisses once more. She did as he bade her without resistance, as ravenous for him now, as he was her. She cried out as he thrust easily into her slick and needy body.

"That's it my Caitie..." he whispered passionately, with every fierce stroke taking her quickly to new and intoxicating heights "..take it, take it all.." he plunged higher and deeper, faster and faster. Cait wrapped her legs around him as high as she could, clinging to him with all her might, panting as she arched her longing body to meet his.

"Tell me you love me…" he begged through ragged breaths as he fought to hold on, her desperate hunger for him driving him powerless, to his climax. "Say it woman!"

It was too much for Cait and she surrendered herself willingly, crying out ecstatically as she soared into blissful oblivion, her whole being trembled and quivered in rapturous spasms. He felt her body throb and pulse around him, demanding he give her his all. He let go of her hands and white knuckled, gripped the furs around them as if holding on for his life. Cait reached up and clung to him as with one final deep thrust, he let go and spilled into her. His body shuddered ferociously and his heart thumped painfully at his chest causing him to gasp over and over and Cait held him tighter, soothing him with encouraging murmurs and loving kisses, until the warmth of contentment gently crept through his body and he grew quiet and relaxed in her arms. They eased themselves back down into the comfort of the furs - their bodies still entwined, slick and hot with perspiration as Tristan lay his head upon the comfort of her warm, soft breast. He smiled inwardly as he felt her tiny fingers begin to caress the braids within his shaggy mane and so they lay together in peaceful silence.

"Well… good morning to you, too!" Cait cooed at length. Tristan looked up and then chuckled huskily.

"Sorry, my lady…did I wake you?"

Cait laughed gently and he smiled in return, basking in the intimate and familiar ease which now existed between them and chased his earlier irrational fears away. They lay together quietly until the morning light filled the room. Tristan sighed as he remembered his duty for the day and it was with a heavy heart he knew he had to leave the console of her arms. Kissing her once, slowly and gently, he eased himself up reluctantly from her arms.

"I have to go for a short while" he mumbled begrudgingly, as he began to pull on his breeches and boots.

Cait looked on startled and confused, and then frowned irritably.

"Really?" she grumbled, plainly miffed. "That's just charming!"

Tristan turned to her as he pulled on his tunic. "I have inspection duties. We've been away sometime, Arthur needs his report on how Badon fares."

"Can't he do his own inspections?" She grumbled again, even more churlishly, sitting her self up and pulling her knees up to her chest.

"It's my job…" Tristan chuckled and bent to kiss her indignant nose. "Sooner I get started, the sooner I'll be back"

"Fine" Cait replied curtly, making it sorely obvious it really was anything but. Was this just an excuse, his way of dismissing her? Her insecurities came flooding back, she felt strangely rejected and it wounded her deeply. Getting up quickly from the bed, she found the blue servants gown she had been wearing and began to dress. She stifled a shocked groan at the dull pain of her body. Her muscles ached in places she had hardly known existed, a sure reminder of the night they had shared, but it failed to reassure her fears that she was now being conveniently discarded.

Tristan stopped what he was doing and frowned "Where are you going?"

"Home." She quipped back, ignoring both his scowl and her body's tenderness as she continued to dress.

"You'll stay where you are!.. You're my woman now and this shall be your home."

"Ha!.." she threw back, the true meaning of his words lost on her, so convinced was she that, his desire now spent, so too were any promises he had whispered to her in the hypnotic throws of passion that previous night. "I'll thank you to remember, I'm a woman of independent means … I need no charity from you, knight!"

Tristan gave a petulant grunt and then replied mischievously.

"and you'll get none!... I expect a high levy from you in return for ya board and lodgings and don't you forget it"

Cait gasped indignantly, stubbornly mis-interpreting what had been meant as a roguish remark

"So! This is what y'meant by 'sharing your life' is it? A live-in whore!" The dress now on, she thrust her hands on her hips and glared across at him "Don't be thinking I'll be keeping house for ya… washing y'dirty socks… cooking y'broth and warming y' bed…. waiting around for you to come staggering in from the tavern of a night, smelling of ale and dirty women!"

Tristan groaned at the return of his bloody-minded Cait and then reached out and pulled her to him. She went to him, albeit with a pout.

"You are _not_ my whore Cait and ne'er will be… I am neither Druid nor Christian… My holy men lay oceans away…. But I'm willing to call you 'wife' if that is what is important to you"

"Oh…my! How chivalrous of you!" she replied acidly, shrugging away his arms.

Tristan scowled more darkly. Just a few moments ago, his life had been perfection and now…What had he done so wrong this time? Women were so damned mysterious and infuriating; he never could decipher their ridiculous moods, especially this woman. He remembered then, just why he'd been alone for so long.

"Just what do you want from me Cait?" he growled at last "I can give you a home, food in your belly and protection from all…Christ, we can even get hand-fasted or whatever the bloody hell it is you Britons do….! Just take my name if that's what makes you happy…!"

"I have my own home! My own food and I've not done such a bad job of protecting myself these years past!" Cait threw back, feeling thoroughly insulted now "And I have my own name, thank you!"

Why did this man not understand? Why could he not just say the words she needed to hear so desperately to ease all her fears?

Tristan huffed irritably, his jaw tense with rising frustration. Why were women so bloody impossible to please? "Then just tell me what you want, for crying out loud!"

"I shouldna have t'ask!"

"I give up!" Tristan yelled, throwing his arms up in surrender. "That's enough! I have to go…._you_…" he said, pointing a commanding finger at her "Will stay here until I return…" Grabbing her face suddenly, he kissed her long and hard and then swiftly left the room.

...

"I ne'er expected to see a face like that on ya this morning… you hav'na been quarrelling with ya girl already now?" Dagonet chortled as he secured the saddle upon his mare's back.

Tristan grumbled something unintelligible beneath his breath and began to lead his horse to the stable door, eager now to get on with his duties and out into the peaceful wilds. That woman could drive a man insane with her riddles and her canting. Dagonet flashed him a look over his shoulder still grinning broadly. He knew Tristan well enough to expect no better reply. But Tristan suddenly stopped and turned round, a troubled and bewildered look on his face.

"_You_ know women-folk, Dag…"

"Aye?" came Dagonet's fascinated reply. He stopped what he was doing and stood up straight, his attention caught by his friend's uncharacteristic desire to impart some or other confidence.

"What do they want?"

For a moment Dagonet thought it a jest, but he saw no laughter in the eyes that seemed in earnest wait of his reply. Dagonet thought for a long moment and then smiled knowingly.

"My girl says…" He said with a broad grin and his eyes lighting up at the very thought of her "All she wants…all she needs.. is to know my heart is hers..."

Tristan stared silently "and is it?" he asked at length.

"Aye… and always will be, I'm thinking" Dagonet grinned ever more broadly, as he turned his attention back to his horse, knowing his friend had now found the answer he was searching for.

Tristan gave a thoughtful 'humph' and walked out.

...

Cait stared down from the window at the courtyard below, her fingers tracing her lips to the memory of that last bruising kiss. In her soul she knew that he loved her, no two people could share what they had last night without it being love, but her mind, ever cautious and suspicious, forever tortured her heart with doubt. She loved him so deeply, it was terrifying. Why could she not trust in him, or even herself? She watched as the door of the stable below swung open and Tristan stepped out into the courtyard, leading his large grey stallion behind him. Her heart lurched at the sight of him. He had not even left the barracks and she missed him already. He glanced up at her window briefly and it was all she could bear.

Without another thought, she sped out of the room and down the stone spiral stairs, desperate to hold him just one more time. As she careered down the corridor she suddenly halted, taking two deep breaths and composing herself before entering into the courtyard. Her infuriating pride still forbidding her to allow him knowledge it was for him she was there.

Stepping out, she crossed his path with a nonchalant air and her head high.

"And where you might be going? I told you to wait for me"

Stopping to look back at him she answered him casually "You're not the only one who has tasks of great importance to carry out, sir…I have chickens to feed!" she stood her ground, but wanted desperately to run into his arms.

"Chickens?" Tristan chuckled throatily, his previous ill-humour seemly forgotten. Leaving his horse, he walked towards her, "I see…be off with you then, I shall come fetch you when I am done on my rounds"

As she looked up into his eyes, Cait felt her heart swell with pride, for love shone in those warm golden-brown orbs - unmistakable, undeniable love and it shone for her. And oh, how she loved him in return. When she did not move to take her leave, Tristan knew now was the moment.

"Caitie" he murmured softly "you know what will be expected of you… as my lover I mean?"

"You get ahead of yourself, Sir! Who says I'll have you in my bed again?" Cait's eyes flashed playfully as she tried hard to hold back the mirth in her voice.

Tristan let out a weary chuckle and shook his head. Then more seriously, he spoke once more "I'm not the easiest of men to contend with at times, but you are strong enough a match for me, I think." He stopped and reached out to caress her cheek with the tips of his fingers. "You are in no need of protection, food or shelter it seems but still, I give it you, my lady…for I have nothing left to give you… you already hold my heart"

Cait's eyes filled with tears as the words she so needed to hear swelled in her breast. She threw her arms about his neck and sobbed confessions of love between desperate kisses as Tristan wrapped his arms around her tightly and buried his face in the scent of her soft hair.

"Take good care of it my lady..." he whispered lovingly "… tis the only one I have"

**THE END**


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